The Goldfish Pitch

I wasn't supposed to be the one housesitting the Vanderbildts' place that weekend. But my older bailed last minute because apparently "getting broken up with via text while his friends were partying at the lake" constituted an emergency. Whatever. I needed the hundred bucks anyway.

The Vanderbildts had this cat, Lucifer—a fluffy orange demon who acted like he owned everything, including my anxiety. And they had this goldfish, Bubbles, swimming in its tiny castle like it understood something I didn't.

I was stressing because Maya finally noticed me after, like, two years of existing near each other in AP English. She'd invited me to this thing at the baseball field Friday night. People gathering around the backstop, sharing whatever, being normal teens with normal lives and normal goldfish memories.

The plan was solid: my cousin was covering for me with our parents, I had my best slightly-worn hoodie ready, and I'd practiced casual conversations in my mirror until I felt pathetic. But then Lucifer managed to knock over the entire goldfish bowl while chasing a moth. Bubbles flopped onto the linoleum, gasping like my dignity whenever Maya made eye contact with me.

I scrambled. No idea why, but I grabbed the fish with my bare hands and sprinted three blocks to the park where everyone was hanging out around the baseball diamond. The entire baseball team was there, including Maya's ex, Tanner—who threw like he was trying to put holes through people's chests.

Lucifer chased me the whole way, yowling like he was the one betrayed.

I burst through the fence gate, goldfish cupped in my hands, cat circling my ankles like he'd finally won. Every conversation stopped. Twenty pairs of eyes locked on me.

"Dude, is that a goldfish?" Tanner called out. His friends laughed.

Maya stepped away from the backstop. "What are you doing?"

"Saving Bubbles," I managed. "The cat... it was an emergency."

She stared for this eternal second, then just started laughing. Not the mean laugh. The real one.

"You ran three blocks. For a goldfish. While being chased by a cat."

"He's a persistent enemy."

She shook her head, grinning. "You're so weird." But she moved away from Tanner toward me. "Wanna get out of here? This baseball scene's played anyway."

We walked to the creek, Bubbles safe in a water bottle I found, Lucifer apparently done with his adventure. The fish was fine. I was absolutely not fine—heart racing like I'd stolen something.

"You know," Maya said, "normal people would've let the cat eat the fish."

"Yeah, but normal's boring, right?"

She laughed again, and something in my chest untangled. Maybe growing up meant realizing nobody knew what they were doing. Some of us just rescued goldfish while getting chased by cats in front of our crushes.

Better than being Tanner, still thinking arm strength was a personality trait.