The Goldfish Incident

The social pyramid at Northwood High was simple: jocks at the top, theatre kids somewhere in the middle, and everyone else fighting for the scraps. I was definitely in the scraps category—until Jordan noticed me.

"You wanna play padel after school?" Jordan asked at lunch, sliding onto the bench beside me like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Me. The girl who once tripped over her own feet during gym class warm-ups.

"Sure," I said, trying to sound chill instead of like I was mentally screaming. Jordan Rodriguez was talking to me. Jordan, whose smile could probably solve climate change if enough people saw it.

That afternoon, I showed up at the courts wearing my dad's old tennis racket (close enough, right?) and immediately regretted every life choice that led to this moment. Jordan was there with actual padel gear, looking like a sports commercial come to life.

"You can borrow mine," Jordan said, tossing me a proper racket. "Your dad's weapon looks like it survived the 90s."

I laughed. I actually laughed. We played terribly, laughed at our awful serves, and somehow—I don't even know how it happened—I ended up at Jordan's house afterward.

And that's when I saw it: a goldfish bowl on the dresser, except the fish was floating at the top.

"Oh no," I said. "Your goldfish—"

"He's been dead for three days," Jordan said quietly, all the laughter gone from their voice. "I can't flush him. He was my dad's, and Dad's been gone six months now, and..."

The air between us got thick with things we weren't saying.

"I get it," I said. "My mom died when I was twelve. I still have her favorite coffee mug. I still use it every morning like she's gonna walk in and ask for a sip."

Jordan looked at me, really looked at me, and something changed. Like we were both spies in the war of being okay, and we'd just found each other's signal.

"You ever feel like you're living on autopilot?" Jordan asked. "Like everyone thinks you're fine, but you're just going through motions?"

"Literally always," I said.

We sat there for hours, talking about everything and nothing. About the pyramid of expectations at school. About how exhausting it is to pretend. About dead goldfish and coffee mugs and the things we carry.

Jordan walked me home that evening. The sunset was painting everything gold and pink, like the world was trying to be beautiful even when things were messy.

"You're my friend now, you know," Jordan said at my door. "Like, actually my friend. Not school friend."

"Yeah," I said, feeling something warm and bright blooming in my chest. "Yeah, I think I am too."

Sometimes the best things start with terrible sports equipment and a dead fish. The world is weird like that.