Poolside Goldfish Dreams

I never thought I'd spend my entire summer staring at a **pool**, but here I was—lifeguard duty at the Oakwood Community Center, rocking the neon-orange whistle like it was some kind of crown. Tyler, the cute senior who'd graduated last spring, showed up every afternoon at exactly 2 PM, doing laps that made my stomach do actual gymnastics.

"Hey, Maya, you gonna save me if I drown?" he'd joke, dripping pool water everywhere.

"Depends," I'd shoot back, trying to play it cool even though my face was definitely the color of a tomato. "Are you worth saving?"

The real tragedy wasn't my nonexistent flirting skills—it was Goldie. My carnival-prize **goldfish** from last summer's fair, somehow still alive despite my best efforts to accidentally kill her through overfeeding, underfeeding, and that one time I accidentally used tap water instead of conditioned water. Goldie was swimming in her bowl on my nightstand, probably judging my entire existence.

"You're pathetic, Goldie," I told her one night, while refreshing Instagram for the forty-third time. Tyler had posted a story at the **pool**, shirtless, with some caption about "living my best life." Meanwhile, I was having a conversation with a fish.

But then came the pool party. The annual end-of-summer bash that everyone went to. I showed up wearing my favorite cutoffs and a vintage band tee, determined to actually talk to Tyler like a normal human being.

"Maya!" He waved me over, and suddenly we were talking about everything—music, our terrible high school experiences, how he was leaving for college in two weeks. It was perfect. Until someone cannonballed directly into my path, and I ended up fully clothed in the deep end.

Tyler jumped in after me.

"You okay?" he asked, laughing as I surfaced, spluttering pool water.

"Never better," I said, even though my mascara was running down my face like black tears.

That night, I sat on my bed with Goldie watching me. "You know what?" I told my fish. "Getting pushed into a pool in front of my crush wasn't the worst thing that could happen. At least I didn't die alone in my room talking to a fish."

Goldie just swam in a little circle, probably agreeing. Some days, that's what growing up feels like—you're just treading water, trying not to drown, while everyone else makes it look easy. But at least I had stories. And a goldfish who'd witnessed my entire emotional breakdown.