The Goldfish Monologues

Kai's pet goldfish, Bartholomew, floated at the top of his bowl again. Third time this month.

"Dude, you gotta stop doing this," Kai whispered, tapping the glass. Bartholomew's orange scales caught the afternoon light through his bedroom window.

"KAI! Spinach's ready!" his mom yelled from downstairs.

He groaned. The spinach incident of sophomore year still haunted him—getting green stuff stuck in his braces while smiling at Sarah, who'd definitely noticed. The whole lacrosse team had called him "Spinach Boy" for two months straight.

Now here he was, seventeen years old, still dealing with vegetable trauma and a suicidal fish.

His phone buzzed. Group chat: *pool party @ jess's house u coming?*

Kai hesitated. Swimming meant shirtless, and the whole body dysmorphia spiral. But Jess would be there. Jess, who'd somehow transformed from quiet theater kid to the person everyone wanted around, like she'd unlocked some social cheat code over summer break.

Bartholomew did a lazy flip.

"You're living my best life, bro," Kai told him. "No social anxiety, no awkward encounters, just swimming in circles and eating flakes."

He grabbed his phone. *maybe. if there's food*

*there's literally everything*

Kai stood up, Bartholomew momentarily forgotten. Sometimes you had to jump into the deep end, even if you weren't sure you could swim. Even if it meant potential embarrassment. Even if spinach dip was involved.

He paused at the door. "Later, Bartholomew. Don't die while I'm gone."

The goldfish swam toward his castle, completely unbothered. Kai grabbed his towel and headed downstairs, ready to face whatever teenage disaster awaited him next.