Poolside Geometry

The pool party at Tyler's house was exactly the kind of social minefield I'd been avoiding all summer. Chlorine hung thick in the humid July air, mixing with the scent of coconut sunscreen and something else — anticipation, maybe. Or just teen anxiety manifesting as physical sensations.

I sat on the edge with my legs in the water, flip-flops kicked aside like I was actually going to swim. Marcus was floating on his back near the deep end, looking annoyingly relaxed. We'd been friends since seventh grade, back when friendship was about sharing Pokémon cards instead of questioning why you felt like the third wheel in your own best friend's orbit.

"Yo, you coming in or what?" Marcus called, paddling over.

"Maybe later," I said, which meant definitely not.

"Your loss." He gestured toward the far side of the pool. "Chloe was asking about you."

Chloe. The same Chloe who'd spent last year's spring formal dancing with someone else while I watched from the gym bleachers, pretending to care about the basketball game on the monitor. "Right."

"No, for real. She thinks you're... I don't know. Mysterious." Marcus laughed. "Which is rich considering you're literally the most predictable person I know."

The prediction was correct: I wasn't swimming. I was here because Marcus had begged, because we were drifting apart and both knew it, and because apparently maintaining friendships required participating in rituals like pool parties where everyone pretended to be having the time of their lives.

Carnival prizes sat on a nearby table — evidence of Tyler's birthday weekend. A plastic bag containing a goldfish caught my eye, won by some kid and abandoned like it was nothing. The fish swam in tiny, frantic circles, translucent orange scales flashing under the patio lights.

"That's depressing," I said.

"What?" Marcus followed my gaze. "Oh yeah. Tyler's sister won it. They're probably gonna let it die or flush it. Classic."

The fish pressed against the bag, mouth opening and closing. For no reason I could explain, I felt weirdly connected to its situation.

"I'm taking it," I said, standing up.

Marcus stared. "You're what?"

"Taking it. It's not gonna survive here."

"Dude, it's a fish. A carnival fish that'll probably be dead in two days anyway."

"So?" I picked up the bag. "At least it'll have two days where someone actually gives a crap."

Marcus studied me for a long moment. Then he shrugged, which hurt more than it should have. "Whatever. You do you, I guess."

Later that night, I transferred the fish to a temporary bowl I'd dug out of the garage. It swam cautiously, exploring its new boundaries. My mom came into my room, surveying the situation with raised eyebrows.

"Since when do you have a fish?"

"Since today."

She set something on my desk — a gummy vitamin from the health phase she'd been trying to get me to participate in all summer. "At least take this. You're nineteen and basically surviving on pizza and anxiety."

"Mom, please."

"Just take the vitamin, Leo. And maybe text Marcus. He seemed off at the party."

I didn't want to hear it. The truth was, Marcus wasn't off — he was moving on. Baseball scholarship talks, new friends, college visits that didn't include me. We'd agreed, silently, that this summer would be our last hurrah before everything changed.

But some things were changing faster than others.

I watched the fish circle its bowl, infinitely freer than I felt. It didn't know it was trapped. It just kept swimming, like that was enough.

Marcus texted around midnight: *u coming to baseball practice tomorrow?*

I stared at my phone. The goldfish stilled, then darted to the surface.

*maybe,* I typed back. *maybe later.*

Which meant: I'll be there. I'll always be there, until you tell me not to be.

Some geometry problems never get solved. You just learn to live with the angles.