The Goldfish Method

I sat behind the bleachers, phone clutched in my hand like a weapon, watching Alex through the chain-link fence. He stood by the concession stand with the popular crowd, occupying the very top tier of the high school social pyramid—the kind of people who actually knew what they were doing with their lives.

"You're being a total creep," Kayla said, dropping beside me and offering her extra popcorn.

"I'm not creeping. I'm gathering intel," I protested, though I knew she was right. I'd been low-key spying on Alex's social media for weeks now, analyzing every story like I was preparing for a final exam.

On the field, Jake—the absolute bear of a senior with shoulders like a mountain range—caught a line drive at shortstop. The baseball game was tied, bottom of the seventh, and everyone was losing their minds. Meanwhile, I was sitting here feeling like the world's most awkward goldfish—swimming in circles, forgetting everything every three seconds, totally invisible in my own bowl.

"You know what your problem is?" Kayla said, brushing popcorn salt off her jeans. "You think everyone's watching you, but literally no one is paying attention. You're not the main character, bestie."

"Wow, thanks for the pep talk," I deadpanned.

Then Jake noticed us watching. Instead of ignoring us like the pyramid elite usually did, he actually jogged over. His cleats crunched against the dirt, and for some reason, my heart started racing like I'd been caught doing something wrong.

"You coming to the party after?" he asked, gesturing to his group.

I blinked. "What?"

"The victory party," he said, grinning. "You're Kayla's friend, right? You should come."

And just like that, the pyramid didn't seem so tall anymore. Maybe high school wasn't about climbing to the top. Maybe it was about finding the people who actually saw you—goldfish attention span and all.