Seven Seconds of Courage

The goldfish bowl sat on my nightstand, its solitary inhabitant staring at me with what I swore was judgment. Dad called him Fin. I called him a mirror. Three seconds of memory, my therapist said when I told her about the anxiety loops. 'Goldfish actually remember way longer than that,' she corrected. 'But the myth sticks because sometimes we all wish we could forget stuff that fast.'

I wished I could forget last Tuesday at the padel courts.

'Bro, you were staring like a full-on creep,' Marcus had said afterward, laughing as he downed his Gatorade.

'I wasn't staring. I was observing.'

'You were definitely spying, Leo. Just admit you're obsessed with Maya.'

I wasn't obsessed. I was just... hyper-aware. Since Maya transferred to our school two months ago, she'd become this gravitational force that everyone orbited. She played padel like she'd been born with a racket in her hand, moving with this easy confidence that made my chest feel weirdly tight. I'd started showing up to the courts early, positioning myself where I could watch through the fence while pretending to check my phone.

Okay, maybe Marcus had a point.

The problem wasn't that I didn't know how to talk to her. The problem was that every time I tried, my brain would do this thing where it replayed every single awkward interaction I'd had since sixth grade, like my own personal worst-hits compilation. By the time I'd spiraled through that mental landfill, the moment was gone.

'You're overthinking it,' Marcus said. 'Just say hi. She's literally just a person.'

Easy for him to say. Marcus had swagger. I had anxiety and a fish.

Friday, I found Maya sitting alone by the community pool, legs in the water. She wasn't on her phone. She was just watching the light ripple across the surface.

I stood there for way too long, heart doing this thing where it forgot how to beat properly. The spy energy was strong. But then she looked up and caught me.

No pretending I was just passing through. No plausible deniability.

'Hey,' she said, like it was normal. 'You're Leo, right? You play padel at the courts?'

'Yeah. I mean, I try.'

She nodded. 'I've seen you. You're actually pretty good.'

My brain short-circuited. 'What? No, I'm not. You're incredible.'

'Thanks.' She smiled, and it was this small, genuine thing that made my chest do the tight feeling again but in a good way. 'Want to sit?'

So I did. We talked for an hour — about padel, about how she missed her old club, about how she'd always wanted to learn to swim properly but never got around to it. I told her about Fin and the memory myth. She laughed, and it was this real laugh, not the polite one she gave teachers.

'So,' she said as she stood up to leave, 'you want to partner up next week? My usual bailed.'

I said yes before my brain could sabotage it.

That night, I fed Fin an extra pinch of flakes. 'You're not gonna forget this,' I told him. 'Because I'm definitely gonna need you to testify that this actually happened.'

He just blew bubbles. But that was okay. Some things don't need witnesses to be real.