The Goldfish at the Top of the Pyramid

Marco's palms were sweating. Literally sweating. He wiped them on his jeans, leaving two dark streaks on the denim. Great. Now he looked like he was nervous AND had questionable hygiene.

The carnival lights flickered across the school courtyard, painting everything in neon. Marco spotted the popular crew—like an actual pyramid formation with Jake at the apex, then the tier-two friends, then the orbiting wannabes. They were gathered by the padel court, laughing at something Jake said. Probably nothing. Jake could sneeze and they'd call it comedy gold.

"Hey Marco!" Jake yelled. "Wanna play padel? We need a fourth."

The pyramid paused. All eyes on him. This was it—the moment he'd been waiting for since his family moved to this town three months ago.

"Sure," Marco said, trying to sound casual instead of absolutely losing it.

He reached for a racquet, but his backpack strap got caught on something. As he turned, his brand-new orange notebook—the one his mom bought him for his "fresh start" at this school—tumbled out. Pages scattered everywhere.

The group didn't laugh. They didn't even notice. Jake was already hitting the padel ball against the wall, focus elsewhere.

Marco scrambled to gather his things. Under the booth, something shimmered. A small plastic bag with a single goldfish inside, abandoned on the dirt.

Its tiny fins waved. It stared at him with those bug-eyed fish faces that always looked surprised.

"Excuse me," a voice said.

He looked up. A girl with electric orange hair sat at the palm reading table. She wasn't with the pyramid. She was at a booth by herself.

She pointed at his hand. "You dropped this."

His gym shirt. He'd forgotten it was even there.

"Thanks," he said. He sat his things down by her table. "What's with the fish?"

The girl shrugged. "Someone won it, didn't want it. I'm saving it for later."

"Saving a fish?"

"Saving the moment of deciding what to do with it." She smiled. "I'm Sam."

"Marco."

He should have gone. Jake was still playing padel, the pyramid of popularity waiting for him to join. But something about the fish—this weird, unwanted prize—kept him there.

"Want your fortune told?" Sam asked. "I promise not to tell you you'll meet a tall stranger. That's basic."

His palms had stopped sweating.

"Sure," Marco said.

And just like that, the pyramid seemed less important.