The Bull of Belmont High

My goldfish, Neptune, had seen me through more breakdowns than my therapist. We'd been through it all: the braces, the bad haircut, the time I accidentally liked my crush's Instagram post from 2019 while stalking their profile at 3 AM.

"You've got this, bro," I told Neptune's bowl, ignoring the fact that he'd probably forget I existed in three seconds. That goldfish memory was starting to look like a superpower.

Today was the day. The padel tournament at the rec center where HE would be. Tyler. The guy who'd sat behind me in bio since September and somehow never noticed my existence.

"You're actually doing this?" My best friend Priya rolled her eyes as she handed me a vitamin D supplement. "For energy. You look like you haven't slept since the Challenger explosion."

The tournament bracket was posted on the wall. I scanned the names until I found it: MY NAME versus THE BULL.

The Bull was legendary at our school. Tyler's older brother, a senior who'd allegedly broken three noses in one semester and made freshmen cry just by breathing in their direction. A literal six-foot-two wall of pure intimidation energy.

"You're going to get destroyed," Priya said, way too cheerfully.

But here's the thing nobody knew about me: I'd been playing padel since I was twelve. My abuelo had a court behind his house in Miami, and every summer I'd practiced until my hands blistered. I was low-key decent, but I'd never played in public. Too much visibility. Too many eyes.

The match started. The Bull's serve came at me like a cannon, but my body just moved. Muscle memory from those Miami summers took over. I returned it with backspin that died at his feet.

"What?" The Bull actually looked confused.

I won the first set. Then the second. The small crowd that had gathered was actually cheering. FOR ME.

Between games, I caught Tyler watching. Like, actually watching. Not THROUGH me, but AT me.

"You're incredible," he said afterward, and I swear my heart did something concerning. "My brother never loses."

"Beginner's luck?" I shrugged, trying to play it cool even though I was internally screaming.

"Nah." He smiled, and it was better than I'd imagined. "That was skill. Hey, some of us are hitting boba after this. You coming?"

Walking home later, I burst through the door and zeroed in on Neptune's bowl.

"We're doing it," I told him. "We're actually doing it."

He swam to the front of the glass, mouth opening and closing like he had something to say.

"Yeah, I know," I laughed. "I finally stopped running from everything."

And for the first time in forever, I felt like maybe I didn't need to forget my memories like a goldfish. Maybe they were exactly what I needed to become who I was supposed to be.