Poolside Goldfish

I was running on three hours of sleep and sheer terror. Finals week had turned me into a certified zombie — I'm talking undead, barely functional, could-star-in-a-horror-movie zombie. My mom kept shoving those cherry-flavored gummy vitamins at me every morning like they were magical resurrection pills.

"You look like death, Maya," she'd say, handing me the vitamin with that concerned furrow between her eyebrows. "At least take this."

But the real crisis wasn't my appearance. It was Betsy.

Betsy was my sister's goldfish, and I'd somehow become responsible for keeping her alive while Emma was at camp. Which was fine, until Betsy started floating sideways yesterday morning. I googled it. Apparently goldfish do this when they're dying. I panicked — obviously — because Emma loved this fish more than anything, and I couldn't let her come home to a dead fish.

So there I was, at Tyler's pool party, sneaking Betsy around in aSolo cup filled with pool water because I'd read online that fresh water might help. I looked ridiculous holding a red plastic cup like I was pregaming, but instead of cheap beer, it was a dying goldfish doing lazy circles.

"Maya!" Tyler waved from the deep end. His hair was wet and messy and he was smiling that smile that made my stomach do something weird and stupid. "Get in here! The water's perfect!"

I took one step toward the pool and remembered Betsy. Couldn't exactly swim with a goldfish.

"I... uh... I can't right now," I called back, clutching the cup tighter.

"What's in the cup?" Chloe yelled from poolside. She was Tyler's ex, and she had that look in her eyes like she knew something was up.

"Nothing!" I said too fast.

Betsy chose that exact moment to go belly-up.

Chloe was already walking over, curiosity warring with her natural instinct to expose me. I had seconds.

"It's a fish," I whispered, defeated.

She stared at me. Then at the cup. Then back at me. And instead of laughing, she said, "My cousin's a vet. Put it in the shade. Change the water every hour. And google 'swim bladder disease' not 'dying goldfish.'"

She didn't tell anyone.

Later, when Betsy was swimming normally in the shaded corner of the pool deck, Tyler sat next to me on the lounge chair.

"You're weird, Maya," he said, but he was smiling.

"Weird good or weird bad?"

"Weird good." He bumped my shoulder with his. "Like, who brings a goldfish to a pool party?"

"Someone who didn't want her sister to come home to a dead pet."

He nodded slowly. "That's actually kind of... really cool."

Maybe the vitamins were working. Or maybe it was just the first time all week I didn't feel like a zombie anymore.