The Goldfish Conspiracy

The carnival goldfish—now depressingly named basic bro Dave by my older sister—stared at me through the glass with what I swear was judgment. Three weeks I'd had him, and already he'd witnessed more teenage cringe than any aquatic life should have to endure.

"You're actually going through with this?" Maya asked from where she sat cross-legged on my bed, scrolling TikTok. "Padel league tryouts? Seriously?"

"Shut up," I muttered, attempting to fix my hair for the third time. "Jared's going to be there."

"Jared, whose personality has the depth of a——"

"Don't say it."

"——crack in the sidewalk."

Maya had this infuriating habit of being right. Jared was cute, sure, in that way where boys haven't grown into their faces yet and still somehow work it. But he was also basically a human fox—sly, charming, and absolutely up to something. Last week I'd seen him cozying up to Jessica at lunch. This week, suddenly, he's interested in whether I play racquet sports?

Somewhere, danger signs were flashing like actual lightning, and I was ignoring every single one.

The community center was packed when we arrived. The unmistakable thwack-thwack of padel balls hitting paddles echoed through the gym. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to be an organ.

And there he was. Golden retriever energy masking straight-up fox energy, laughing at something his friends said. When he saw me, his face lit up like I was the only person in the room.

"No freaking way," he said, bounding over. "You play?"

"I mean, not really, but——"

"You're on my team then. Coach puts us with whoever we bring."

Wait.

He wanted ME on HIS team?

Maya mouthed 'sus' from across the gym, but honestly, my brain was short-circuiting in the best way possible. We played. I sucked. But Jared kept laughing, handing me water, touching my arm when I made a joke. The world felt bright and new and terrifying.

Afterward, we walked to the parking lot as the first storm drops started falling.

"Hey," he said, all casual, leaning against his bike. "My parents are out this weekend. Want to come over? Watch movies?"

Lightning split the sky. Not metaphorical. Actual, terrifying lightning.

"I, um——"

"Unless you're busy," he said quickly, suddenly looking nervous. "You probably have plans."

His bike was my getaway. I grabbed it without thinking and literally started running alongside it, one foot on the pedal, pushing off as the sky opened up.

Rain soaked everything. My hair was wrecked. My phone was probably dead. But as I rode away, heart pounding, I realized the fox hadn't caught me. I'd gotten away. And maybe that was the point all along.

That night, basic bro Dave and I had a long conversation about how we're both done with basic boys.

Maya posted a picture of me on her Story, hair wild, rain-drenched, grinning like I'd won. Caption: 'My friend, out here running from problems and also into them.'

Somehow, she wasn't wrong.