The Fish That Saved My Social Life

The goldfish glubbed at me through the glass, judgment in his bulging eyes. Great. Even my pet thought I was pathetic for hiding in the bathroom at Jordan's party.

Outside, muffled bass thudded against the door. Everyone cool was at the padel courts in the backyard, because apparently padel was the sport now, and if you didn't play, you didn't exist.

"You're better than this," I whispered to Gerald (yes, I named my fish that week, no I don't want to talk about it). "You're a majestic creature."

Gerald blew a bubble. It burst.

A crash came from outside. A girl's laugh—Mia, the one I'd been lowkey obsessing over since sophomore year. My stomach did that awful thing where it forgot how to stomach.

Then: meow.

A cat cry. From the bushes near the courts.

I waited. No one else heard it. Everyone was too busy being effortlessly perfect, their hats angled just right, their laughter synchronized like they'd rehearsed it.

Another meow. Distressed.

I looked at Gerald. He said nothing, but his fishy silence felt like permission.

I grabbed my beanie—the same one I'd been wearing all year like a security blanket—and slipped out the bathroom window. Because dignity.

The cat was tangled in the padel court netting, a scrawny orange thing with one ear that'd seen better days. It hissed at me, because gratitude is dead.

"Hey, hey," I murmured, undoing the knots with fingers that refused to stop shaking. "I got you."

Behind me, someone cleared their throat.

I froze. The cat froze. The universe froze.

Mia stood there, holding a padel racket like she might hit something. Maybe me. Probably my dignity.

"That's Trixie," she said. "She's been missing for three days."

"Oh." I finally freed the cat. It scrambled into Mia's arms like they'd known each other forever. Of course.

"You saved her." Mia's eyes did something complicated. "I was literally crying about it this morning. Like, ugly crying."

"Happens." I adjusted my hat, suddenly hyper-aware that it was probably crooked.

"You're the guy with the goldfish, right? You bring him everywhere."

"Gerald," I said, then wanted to die immediately. "His name is Gerald."

She laughed—not mean, actually genuine. "That's iconic. I'm terrified of fish. They just... stare."

"That's kinda the point."

"Want to play padel?" she asked, like it was the most normal sentence in the world. "I'm awful at it and you look like you'd be terrible too."

I took off my hat. My hair was disaster energy, but whatever.

"I'm down," I said.

Mia smiled. And Gerald would have to hear about it later, because I was pretty sure my social life had just started existing.