The Goldfish Incident

The aquarium store job was supposed to be chill — just me, the fish, and the sweet escape from freshman year awkwardness. But then **Leo** walked in, and suddenly I was forgetting how to function like a normal human being.

"You work here?" His voice dropped an octave, trying to sound older than fifteen.

I nearly knocked over the display of betta fish containers. "Yeah. Every Tuesday."

Every Tuesday. I'd said it like I was announcing my birthday. Smooth, Maya. Real smooth.

He leaned against the counter, all casual confidence and worn-out Vans. "My sister wants a **goldfish**. You know, for her birthday."

"Oh, cool." I gestured vaguely toward the tanks. "They're over there. The fancy ones are like, five bucks."

**Water** rippled behind me as something moved in the largest display. The store's resident **cat**, Mr. Whiskers (original, I know), stretched across the counter, eyeing the fish tanks like a personal buffet.

"So," Leo said, watching me instead of the fish, "you doing anything this weekend?"

My brain short-circuited. Was this happening? Was Leo Vasquez actually asking about my weekend plans? Mr. Whiskers chose that exact moment to knock over a cup of fish food, sending pellets cascading across the counter like orange rain.

"I mean," I recovered, trying to play it cool despite the chaos, "maybe? Depends. What's up?"

"There's this party. At Jordan's house. You should come."

A party. Jordan's house. Where the popular kids gathered every Friday to do whatever popular kids did. I'd spent the entire semester watching from the sidelines while they lived their apparently perfect lives.

"Maybe," I said again, because apparently my vocabulary had shrunk to three words.

Mr. Whiskers finally succeeded in dipping his paw into the nearest tank, sending **water** splashing everywhere. I scrambled to stop him, knocking into the goldfish display in the process.

Three separate bags of fish crashed to the floor.

Leo laughed — not mean, but genuine. And somehow, amidst the chaos of spilled water and escaped fish and a very determined cat, something shifted between us.

"You're kind of a mess, Maya," he said, smiling.

"Story of my life."

"Yeah, mine too." He pulled out his phone. "Put your number in. In case, you know, you need help with the cat."

Later that night, as I cleaned up water and fish food for the third time, my phone buzzed. Leo's name lit up my screen: *Party Friday? I'll save you from any more cat disasters.*

Some days, I thought, watching the surviving goldfish swim in lazy circles, the universe just decided to throw everything at you at once. And sometimes, somehow, it all worked out anyway.