The Goldfish in My Palm

The pool party was supposed to be epic. Maya had promised swimming, DJ Vex spinning, and zero awkwardness—literally the opposite of my entire existence.

I stood by the snack table, clutching a red solo cup like it was my only tether to reality. Somewhere beyond the sliding glass doors, people were actually having fun. I could hear them laughing, splashing, existing normally without overthinking every micro-expression.

Then I saw it.

A goldfish. Not the metaphorical kind—the literal kind, swimming in tiny circles inside a plastic bag on the counter. Someone had won it at the carnival earlier.

"That's messed up," said a voice behind me.

I jumped. It was Kai, the guy I'd been lowkey crushing on since algebra. The one who always sat in the back, hoodie up, vibes impenetrable.

"Yeah," I managed. "Pretty dark for a party favor."

"My sister's cat would lose it."

"Cat?" I pictured a kitten chasing helpless fish. "That's... actually horrifying."

He laughed, and I felt something shift in my chest. "Nah, he's all talk. couldn't hurt a fly. Mostly just sleeps and judges everyone. Like a bear in hibernation, but with more attitude."

"A bear?"

"Long story. His name's Bear. The cat, not... obviously there's not an actual bear." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I'm weird at parties."

"Same," I breathed out. "Like, could not bear to be here anymore, but my mom made me come."

He snorted. "Did you just—"

"Don't."

"Okay, okay." He gestured at the goldfish bag. "You think he knows he's in a bag? Like, does he have a whole existential crisis about it?"

"Bro's just swimming. Living his best life."

"His BEST life?" Kai raised an eyebrow. "In a PLASTIC BAG?"

"When you put it that way..." I sighed. "But honestly? Same. Just swimming in circles, pretending everything's fine."

He looked at me differently then. Really looked at me. "Damn. That's depressing."

"Realistic."

"Fair." He extended his hand. "I'm Kai, by the way."

"Riley."

We shook hands—my palm was legit sweating, which is mortifying to even think about—and he didn't pull away or make a face. Just smiled this tiny, crooked thing that made my stomach do actual gymnastics.

"Wanna get out of here?" he asked. "There's a 24-hour diner down the street. They have the best milkshakes, and zero plastic fish."

I looked through the glass doors one last time. All the people swimming, the performative laughter, the exhausting performance of being a teenager at a party.

"Yes," I said. "A thousand times yes."

We slipped out the side door, leaving the goldfish to his endless circles, and walked into the night like we were exactly where we were supposed to be.