Running with Goldfish

The papaya sat on the cafeteria table like a radioactive alien egg, and honestly, I should've known better than to try it during lunch rush.

"Dude, you're not actually gonna eat that," said Marcus, who'd been calling himself 'The Bear' since wrestling season started because he thought it sounded intimidating. (It didn't.)

"Watch me." I took a bite.

Bad decision.

The next thing I knew, I was sprinting down the hallway toward the bathroom, my cross country coach's voice echoing in my head: 'Pacing is everything, Chen.'

Somehow, in my papaya-induced panic, I collided with someone in a Fox racing hoodie—Fox, as in Maya Fox, the girl who'd sat behind me in bio since September and whose answers I'd been copying for weeks. Her goldfish tote bag went flying. Goldfish. The crackers, not actual fish, thank god.

"Running from something?" she asked, deadpan, as we both scrambled to gather cheese crackers that were now everyone's problem.

"Papaya," I wheezed. "Never trust papaya."

Maya's expression shifted from annoyed to something that looked suspiciously like actual amusement. "That's the weirdest thing I've heard all week. And I heard Jason say he wants to start a ska band."

We ended up sitting in the empty gymnasium, sharing crackers and the kind of conversation that only happens when you're not trying to impress anyone. She told me about her mom's obsession with competitive knitting. I told her about my parents' divorce, how I'd started running because it was the only time my brain stopped spinning.

"You know," she said, "Bear wrestling boy has been trying to get my attention for weeks."

"Marcus?"

"He thinks he's so smooth. It's painful." She grinned. "You, though, you just accidentally mauled me with snack food. Way more charming."

I laughed, and for the first time since the papaya incident, I felt like maybe I could breathe again.

"Hey," Maya said, "you run cross country, right?"

"Yeah, but I'm not—"

"Want to train together? I could use someone who doesn't take themselves too seriously. Plus," she nudged me, "you clearly have explosive acceleration when properly motivated."

I thought about it—the papaya disaster, the goldfish everywhere, the absolute mess I'd made of everything. And somehow, this felt like the least stupid decision I'd made all day.

"Deal. But next time, I'm bringing the snacks."

"Good. Because I saw a bear in the woods behind your house last week, and if we're gonna be training together, I need to know you can outrun wildlife."

"Wait, what?"

She winked. "Kidding. Probably."