The Goldfish in My Beanie Pocket

The carnival lights blurred against my glasses as I stood before the goldfish booth, determined to finally impress Jake. He'd been watching me all night, that half-smile tugging at his lips, and I needed something—anything—to show I wasn't just the quiet girl who sat behind him in pre-calc.

"One dollar, three tosses," the carnie said, not looking up from his phone.

I threw. Missed. Again. Missed.

"Here." Jake's voice was right beside me, closer than I'd expected. "Let me help."

His hand covered mine as we threw together. The ping pong ball skipped across the water and landed in a tiny glass bowl containing a single orange goldfish.

"You won," he said, his breath against my ear. "We won."

Suddenly it started pouring. Like, actual torrential downpour. Jake pulled his beanie off his head and stuffed it over my hair without asking. "You'll freeze," he said. "I run hot anyway."

I stood there holding my plastic bag with Gerald (yes, I named him immediately) while Jake's beanie covered my frizzy hair—the hair I'd spent forty minutes straightening that morning, the hair I was so self-conscious about that I almost canceled tonight.

We ducked under the pizza place's awning. His friends were there, of course. The popular ones. The ones who made me feel like I was holding my breath underwater.

"Jake!" someone called. "Who's your friend?"

We ordered. I got spinach salad because I was nervous and trying to be healthy or something stupid. And then—because the universe clearly enjoyed my suffering—I spent twenty minutes talking and laughing with Jake's friends while unknowingly sporting a gorgeous green smile.

I found out in the bathroom mirror. I wanted to die. Actually die.

But when I walked out, Jake was waiting by the door. He didn't mention the spinach. He didn't mention my hair, now frizzy again from humidity. He just gestured to the goldfish bag.

"Gerald needs a bigger tank," he said. "My mom has an extra one from when my brother went through his fish phase. Want to come over?"

The hat—his hat—was still on my head. The goldfish swam in circles. And somehow, incredibly, the boy I'd been crushing on all semester wasn't running away.

Maybe real life wasn't about being perfect. Maybe it was about the moments that made you want to hide, and the people who stayed anyway.

"Yeah," I said, finally breathing. "I'd love that."