The Goldfish in My Backhand

My goldfish Finn was the only one who knew about my panic attacks. Every morning before school, I'd stare into his bowl while choking down a vitamin C gummy that promised immune support but definitely couldn't handle social anxiety.

"You got this, Finn," I'd whisper, watching his orange tail swish through the plastic castle like he owned the place. He didn't judge. He didn't care that I was the only sophomore who'd somehow avoided every team sport requirement.

Until now.

"Jordan! Padel court. Now," Coach Miller barked, pointing toward the fenced enclosure where the popular kids already gathered in their perfect matching outfits.

My stomach did that familiar flip. Padel was like tennis but cooler, faster, and somehow more terrifying. I'd somehow managed to bear three years of gym class by being "strategically absent" during racquet units, but my luck had officially run out.

"You can borrow my extra racquet," Maya called out. Maya Torres, who'd sat behind me in biology since seventh grade and never once spoke to me until this exact moment.

I dragged my feet across the court like I was walking through molasses. The group watched me—some amused, some annoyed. I gripped the racquet like it might save me or betray me, probably both.

"Just hit it back," someone muttered. "Like tennis but with walls."

Easy for them to say. They didn't have arms that felt like overcooked spaghetti whenever attention landed on them.

Maya served. The ball smacked against the backboard then ricocheted toward me at what felt like lightspeed. Something unlocked in my brain. My body remembered rhythm from piano lessons, timing from years of surreptitious dance party Fridays in my bedroom with Finn as my audience.

Thwack.

The ball sailed back, landing perfectly in the corner.

"Damn!" someone shouted.

"Jordan, where did THAT come from?" Maya's eyes were wide.

I couldn't explain it—how fear transmuted into focus, how years of feeling invisible had somehow built an instinct for reading angles, anticipating trajectories. We played for twenty minutes straight. My arms burned, my heart raced, but not from panic. For the first time in my life, I wasn't hoping to disappear.

After school, I fed Finn an extra pinch of flakes.

"I think I might join the league," I told him. His orange scales caught the afternoon light as he did a little victory lap around his castle.

Some transformations don't need vitamins or magic. Sometimes you just need someone to toss you a racquet and call your name.