The Goldfish Bowl

Marcus stood outside the gym wearing his older brother's hand-me-down **orange** jersey—the kind of bright that practically screamed "notice me" when he wanted nothing more than to disappear. Baseball tryouts were inside, and his stomach was doing that thing where it felt like tiny fish were swimming laps against his ribs.

He'd been obsessing over this for weeks. The team. The social ladder climb that would finally place him somewhere above "that quiet kid who sits by the windows." Freshman year was halfway over, and his social rank was still stuck in the lobby.

"You coming in?" Jenna appeared beside him, adjusting her ponytail. She'd made varsity as a freshman. Legend stuff.

Marcus's throat went dry. "Yeah. Just."

Just what? Just thinking about how his dad had compared his attention span to a **goldfish** yesterday? "You've got the focus of a fish, Marc. Three seconds and you're gone." The words had stung more than they should have, mostly because they were true.

His phone buzzed. His mom again. The carnival goldfish she'd won him last week—it was already floating sideways at the top of its bowl. Probably dead. Probably because Marcus forgot to feed it twice.

"You okay?" Jenna asked.

Marcus looked at the gym doors. Then at Jenna, who actually seemed to care. Then at his phone, the dead fish somehow representing everything he was afraid of becoming.

"My fish died," he blurted. "And I think I'm gonna skip tryouts."

Jenna didn't laugh. "That sucks about your fish. But seriously? You're not going in because you're scared?"

"I'm not scared."

"You're literally wearing anxiety in jersey form." She gestured at the orange monstrosity. "Which, bold choice by the way."

Marcus cracked a smile. "It was clean."

"Come on." Jenna pushed the door open. "Freshman year's almost over. You really want to spend sophomore year still being window-guy?"

The goldfish had lived its whole life in a bowl, swimming in circles, never knowing there was an ocean out there. Marcus realized he was doing the same thing—circling the same fears, the same what-ifs, never testing his limits.

He followed Jenna inside, the orange jersey bright enough to cast a shadow. Let them notice. Let them see him. For the first time, he wanted to be seen.