The Goldfish Monologues

I stared at Gillbert's bowl, watching him float there like he understood my entire existence crisis. Being a sophomore at Northwood High meant existing at the bottom of the social pyramid, and honestly? Gillbert's three-second memory seemed like a gift.

"You're going to do great," I told him, popping the vitamin C tablet my mom swore would boost my immune system AND my confidence. As if.

Today was padel tryouts. Apparently, padel tennis was the new status symbol, and everyone who was anyone was on the team. Including her. Chloe, who sat behind me in bio and whose laugh sounded like wind chimes.

I walked to the community center, my stomach doing backflips. The courts were already buzzing—thwacks of rubber balls, synchronized shouts of puntos, the distinct energy of people who knew they belonged.

"You must be the new girl," someone said. I turned to see a guy with curly hair holding an extra racquet. "I'm Leo. First time?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"You're wearing jeans." He grinned. "Big mistake. Padel requires full range of motion. Also, you look terrified."

"Nailed it."

"Here." tossed me his backup racquet. "We'll warm up together. I'm trying out too."

Something shifted. Leo wasn't at the top of the pyramid either, but he moved like he didn't care. We rallied, and for the first time all week, I stopped overthinking.

Until Chloe walked past with her friends, barely glancing at me.

"Don't look at them," Leo said, reading my mind. "Nobody actually cares about that hierarchy stuff. We're just here to hit a ball around."

Later that evening, I sat on my front porch, sharing string cheese with the neighborhood cat who'd adopted me. He purred against my leg like a tiny motor.

"Mr. Whiskers thinks you're cool," I whispered to myself.

Inside, Gillbert was still swimming his loops, completely unbothered. I realized something: maybe high school wasn't about climbing to the top. Maybe it was about finding the people who let you be yourself, whether they had gills, fur, or questionable fashion choices.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number: hey this is leo from tryouts. wanna hit again tomorrow?

I smiled, typing back: absolutely.

The vitamin couldn't hurt. But this? This was the real medicine.