Ramses the Party Goldfish

The house was already bumping when I arrived, bass vibrating through the floorboards like a heartbeat. I wasn't even supposed to be here – Maya's parties were legendary, and I was definitely not legendary material. But here I was, clutching a plastic bag with a goldfish inside like it was my ticket to social acceptance.

"Nice fish," someone said behind me. I turned to find Sophia herself, hair streaked with orange highlights that caught the party lights. She was looking at Ramses (I'd named him after our history presentation on Egypt) with actual interest.

"Won him at the carnival," I said, trying to sound casual instead of like I'd spent three hours throwing ping pong balls into cups. "His name's Ramses. Like the pharaoh."

Sophia laughed – actually laughed, not that fake polite laugh I'd seen her give other people. "Because the Sphinx? That's actually kind of clever." She gestured toward the backyard, where a couple of people were doing zombie walks across the lawn. "Everyone's been zombie-fied since finals week. At least your fish has personality."

We ended up on the back porch, just talking while Ramses swam lazy circles in his bag. Sophia told me about her parents' divorce, how she felt like she was constantly putting on a performance. I admitted that I'd never been to a party before, that I'd almost texted my friend Sam to come rescue me five times.

"You're doing fine," she said, and the orange sunset made her hair look like fire. "Better than fine."

When Sam finally DID text – "you alive??" – I realized I didn't want to leave. Sophia gave me her number, said she'd help me with the history project if I promised not to let Ramses die in a tragic toilet incident.

I walked home with a goldfish, a new contact in my phone, and the sudden realization that maybe I wasn't as invisible as I'd thought. Sometimes the most random things – carnival prizes, zombie walks, orange sunsets – become exactly what you need.