The Goldfish Election

I was running for sophomore class president when my life decided to implode.

"Maya, your campaign is literally cringe," said Jordan, sliding into the booth next to me at The Bean. "Those posters? They giving Tumblr circa 2016."

I sipped my iced matcha, trying not to show how much that stung. Jordan had that fox energy—sleek, calculated, always three moves ahead. We'd been best friends since seventh grade, but lately everything felt like a competition I didn't know we were having.

"At least I'm doing something," I shot back. "What are you doing besides critiquing everyone's vibe?"

"I'm doing my own thing. Don't need validation from literally the entire school." Jordan checked their phone, then suddenly smirked. "Speaking of validation, did you hear what Tyler said at practice?"

My stomach did that thing. "What?"

"He called your campaign posters 'mid'." Jordan's voice dropped to a whisper. "But then he said—get this—that he'd still vote for you because you're 'not like other girls'."

I stared at them. "That's not the compliment you think it is."

"I'm just saying. Tyler's been simping hard since you joined cross country." Jordan paused. "So, about the goldfish."

"What goldfish?"

"The one you won at the carnival? That you've had for three days? It's probs dead, Maya. Goldfish don't live long in those tiny bowls. It's giving negligence."

I'd completely forgotten about the fish. I'd left it on my dresser, and honestly? It was probably floating sideways by now. Another thing I'd failed at.

"You know what?" I stood up, grabbing my backpack. "I'm done. With the campaign. With Tyler. With this goldfish I didn't even want."

"Where are you going?"

"Home. To bury a fish. And then I'm quitting the election."

I walked out, letting the door chime behind me. But instead of heading home, I found myself at Tyler's house. His golden retriever, Buster, came bounding up to me as I knocked.

Tyler opened the door, looking confused. "Maya? Everything good?"

"No," I said. "My goldfish is dead. My best friend is being toxic. And I'm tired of pretending I'm confident when I'm literally freaking out about everything."

Tyler stood there for a second, then stepped aside. "Want to come meet my tortoise? He's been alive since before I was born."

I laughed. It wasn't even funny, but I laughed.

"What?"

"I don't know." I wiped my eyes. "I think that's exactly what I needed to hear."

Buster nudged my hand with his wet nose. I knelt down and buried my face in his golden fur, smelling dirt and sunshine and everything uncomplicated.

"So," Tyler said after a minute. "About those posters..."

"They are cringe, right?"

"Yeah. But I was going to vote for you anyway."

"Because I'm 'not like other girls'?"

"No." He smiled. "Because you're the only one who actually shows up."

Later, as I walked home under streetlights that flickered on one by one, I thought about that goldfish swimming in its tiny bowl, living its whole fish life in three days. Maybe that was enough. Maybe showing up, even for a little while, was the point.

My phone buzzed. Jordan: "look outside"

They were sitting on my front porch with a new fishbowl.

"I got a betta," they said. "They live longer. And I'm sorry about being a hater."

"You're still a fox, Jordan."

"Yeah, well." They shrugged. "Foxes run in packs too."

Maybe I wouldn't quit the election after all. But first, I had a fish to save.