The Goldfish Monologues

The first thing I learned working at TechHive cable support: people will literally call you because their remote is 'too far from the couch.' I'm not kidding. Some dude in a mansion actually expected me to teleport his remote closer.

"That's not really in my job description, sir," I said, trying not to audibly roll my eyes.

"But you're THE CABLE GUY," he insisted, like I was some sort of wizard.

I hung up. gently. Professionalism, right?

My phone buzzed. Maya: 'u coming to jake's party??'

Stomach did that thing where it forgets how to stomach. Jake. The guy I've been lowkey crushing on since seventh grade, who still thinks my name is 'Emma from math class' (it's been three years, Jake).

'can't,' I typed. 'stuck watching mr. bubbles'

Mr. Bubbles being my sister's goldfish. The one she abandoned when she went to college, leaving me as the reluctant guardian of a creature with a three-second memory and zero survival instincts.

Mom swears by this new vitamin regimen she's on. 'These changed my life, Leo!' she'd proclaimed last week, holding up a bottle of neon-orange pills. 'You should try them. Help with that teenage angst.'

'Mom, I'm not angsty. I'm just... existential.'

'Whatever you call it, these vitamins fix it.'

They didn't fix anything, obviously. But I took them anyway because sometimes you just want your mom to be right about something.

Mr. Bubbles floated at the top of his bowl, looking judgmental. Or dead. Hard to tell with goldfish.

"Don't look at me like that," I told him. "At least you're not at Jake's party pretending to understand TikTok references."

The truth was, I was terrified. Parties meant social dynamics and who was dating whom and people asking what I was doing after graduation (still no clue, thanks for asking).

Mr. Bubbles did a little flip.

"Oh, you're alive. Cool."

My phone lit up again. Maya: 'jake asked abt u'

I stared at those three words. Jake. Had asked. About me. The guy who thought my name was Emma.

'Seriously??'

'ya he was like wheres that girl from math class and i was like LEO and he was like oh right leos cool'

Not exactly the confession of the century, but still.

I looked at Mr. Bubbles, who was now swimming around like he owned the place. "What do you think?"

He blew a bubble.

"You're right. I should go."

Twenty minutes later, I walked into Jake's basement, trying to look like someone who belonged at parties. Jake looked up from his phone.

"Emma!" he called. "I mean—Leo!"

"Close enough," I said, and somehow, that was okay.

Later, I'd realize that growing up isn't about having everything figured out. It's about showing up anyway, even when you're terrified, even when your mom's vitamin advice can't fix social anxiety, even when the only one who truly gets you is a goldfish.

Mr. Bubbles would be proud. Assuming he remembered any of it, which he definitely didn't.