The Bull, The Bear, and Everything Between

My locker smelled like desperation and old gum. Three weeks into freshman year and I was still that kid—too quiet, too tall, too everything.

"You gonna take that vitamin or what?" Marcus leaned against the lockers, flipping a coin between his fingers like he'd seen in some movie. Senior. Varsity jacket. The kind of guy who'd never had a panic attack in the cafeteria line.

I swallowed the pill dry. It tasted like artificial orange and parental concern. "My mom says I need immune support."

"Bruh, you need confidence support." Marcus pocketed his coin. "Tonight. My house. The boys are coming over for the fight."

"Fight?" I should've said no. I had homework. I had my goldfish, Bubbles, to feed. I had dignity to preserve.

"Underground MMA. My cousin's fighting this guy they call The Bear." Marcus grinned. "It's gonna be sick."

That night, I sat on a basement couch that had seen better decades, surrounded by juniors and seniors who talked like they'd already figured everything out. The air smelled like cheap cologne and testosterone.

"The Bear's undefeated," someone said. "But tonight's guy? They call him The Bull."

"Why?"

"Because once he charges, he don't stop."

I thought about Bubbles. How he'd swim into the glass of his bowl over and over, never learning. Maybe that's what it meant to be a bull—stubborn hope in the face of obvious limitations.

The fight lasted twenty-seven seconds. The Bear hit the mat so hard I felt it through the floorboards. The room erupted. High-fives, shouting, someone spilling soda on the carpet.

I slipped outside, air cool against my flushed face. My phone buzzed—Mom, wondering where I was.

"Hey."

A girl from my history class sat on the front porch steps, vaping something that smelled like cotton candy. "You're the vitamin kid, right?"

"That's me. The vitamin kid."

"I'm Maya." She blew a cloud of vapor toward the streetlights. "My brother fights sometimes. The Bear's his roommate."

"Oh. Sorry?"

"Don't be. He's a jerk." She smiled, and something in my chest did that stupid fluttery thing. "You wanna get out of here? There's a 24-hour pet store down the street."

We walked through the neon-lit aisles, past rows of gleaming aquariums. "I have a goldfish," I admitted. "His name is Bubbles. I talk to him about my day."

Maya stopped in front of a tank filled with angelfish. "That's not weird. That's sweet."

"Really?"

"Really." She turned, and for a second, the pet store lights caught something in her eyes—something soft, something real. "Maybe you can introduce me sometime."

Bubbles got a new friend the next day. A snail named Gary. I stood in front of his bowl, watching them move through the water together.

Sometimes you're the bear, and sometimes you're the bull. And sometimes, if you're lucky enough and brave enough, you find someone who likes you anyway—vitamins and all.