The Goldfish in Left Field

I won him at the baseball carnival game — three balls in the bucket and suddenly I'm the proud owner of a plastic bag containing a very confused orange goldfish. The guy running the booth looked like he'd rather be anywhere else, handing me the bag like it was radioactive.

"His name's Chip," I told Maya, who was definitely not impressed.

"You're carrying a fish around a baseball field? That's actually random." She adjusted her sunglasses, looking toward where Tyler was warming up by the pitcher's mound. Tyler, who had accidentally liked my Instagram story at 2 AM last week. Tyler, who I was definitely not obsessing over.

"It's a vibe," I said, though it really wasn't. The water in the bag was sloshing against my hand, warm from the July sun. Chip wasn't doing much of anything. Honestly? Mood.

I'd been benched for the season — shin splints, or maybe just general lack of athletic ability. Coach said I could still come to games, sit on the bench, look supportive. So here I was, third game of the playoffs, holding a carnival prize I'd won to impress someone who wouldn't even look at me.

Tyler hit a double, and everyone screamed. I screamed too, but it came out weird because I was also trying not to drop my fish.

Maya's eyes widened. "Did you seriously win that for Tyler?"

"No," I said too fast. "Maybe. I don't know. It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"You're going to give him a live animal as a romantic gesture?"

The真相 hit me like a baseball bat to the face. This was not a move. This was not even close to a vibe. This was, in fact, a cry for help.

I watched Tyler high-five his teammates, laughing with that easy confidence that came naturally to some people. Meanwhile, I was standing on the sidelines with a fish that probably needed a real tank, not a plastic bag and an emotionally unstable teenager.

"You know what?" I said. "I'm keeping him."

"You're keeping the fish?"

"Yeah. Chip and I are gonna figure it out. We're both just swimming around confused anyway, right?"

Maya actually laughed. "That was terrible. Also, same."

The game went into extra innings. Maya and I sat on the grass behind the dugout, making up backstories for everyone on the team. The water in Chip's bag reflected the stadium lights when the sun finally went down. By the eighth inning, he was swimming around like he owned the place.

Tyler waved at us from the dugout. I waved back, with the hand that wasn't holding my fish. Something about having to keep another creature alive made all the other stuff feel smaller. Not small — just, manageable.

We lost the game. But Maya came over afterward, and we got ice cream, and I put Chip in a proper tank that night. He's still alive, actually. Living his best fish life, completely unbothered by anything.

Some days, I honestly kind of respect that.