Poolside Panic

The only thing worse than standing alone at Jake Morrison's pool party was accidentally killing his sister's goldfish. Which I had absolutely done. Ten minutes ago. I was currently staring at the cloudy water of the massive above-ground pool, wondering if I could dissolve into it like some kind of socially anxious amphibian. The party was in full swing—everyone from school was there, looking perfect and tanned and confident, while I stood there in my oversized swim trunks like a poster child for Awkward Teen Syndrome. Jake's sister's room had been right there. I'd only gone in to borrow charger. How was I supposed to know the goldfish bowl was on the edge of the desk? How was I supposed to know that fish couldn't survive a four-foot drop onto carpet? I was spiraling. I needed to tell someone. But WHO? Jake would kill me. Literally. His sister already hated me from that time I accidentally knocked over her science fair project in seventh grade. The social fallout would be catastrophic. Just as I was considering faking a sudden illness and bolting for the gate, the sky opened up. Like, literally opened up. Lightning flashed across the darkening sky, followed by thunder so loud the whole pool seemed to vibrate. Everyone screamed and scrambled for the covered patio. 'Yo, Marcus!' Jake yelled over the sound of rain hitting the pool surface. 'Help me grab the snacks!' He grabbed my shoulder and dragged me toward the house. 'Everyone inside! My parents aren't home, let's NOT have them come back to a flooded basement!' And there it was. The opening. As we rushed through the sliding door, the words tumbled out of me. 'Jake, I am so sorry, but I killed your sister's goldfish.' He stopped. The party noise faded to background. 'What?' 'I was getting my charger and I knocked over the bowl and I didn't know what to do and I'm literally the worst person alive—' 'Dude.' Jake started laughing. Not the mean laugh. The real one. 'That fish has been barely alive for like three years. My sister's been waiting for it to die so she can get a betta fish.' '...really?' 'She gave that fish a literal viking funeral two weeks ago. That was an empty bowl you knocked over.' I stood there, processing. 'Wait. There was no fish?' 'Marcus.' Jake clapped my shoulder. 'You were stressing about an empty fishbowl for two hours?' The embarrassment was immediate and total. But also—liberating. Sometimes the worst-case scenarios were just ... scenarios. 'You are actually the worst,' Jake said, grinning. 'But also, thanks for finally telling me. Now help me get these chips before Carlos eats them all.' Outside, lightning flashed again. But this time, I didn't flinch.