The Goldfish Prophecy

"Your life line's longer than my patience with Mr. Henderson's algebra tests," Jade said, squinting at my palm in the cafeteria. She'd watched too many TikTok tarot videos. "Basically, you're gonna live forever. Or at least until finals week."

I laughed, pulling my hand back. My palms were sweating—classic nervous reflex whenever Jake walked by. Which he was doing right now, baseball cap backward, cleats clicking on the linoleum like he owned the place. He didn't even look at me. Not that I expected him to. I was invisible, a background character in my own life.

"No, for real," Maya whispered, leaning in. "My cousin's friend went to that carnival fortune teller, and the lady told her she'd meet someone who owned a goldfish. Two weeks later? She's dating this guy who has, like, five of them."

"That's not a prophecy," I pointed out. "That's just statistics. Everyone knows someone with a goldfish."

"Whatever. You need mysterious, not logical. That's your whole problem." Jade nodded sagely like she hadn't gotten rejected by three different guys at homecoming.

Later that night, I found myself at the carnival anyway. Maya had dragged us there, claiming she'd heard the baseball team was hanging out after their game. Which was code for: she wanted to spy on Jake's friend Tyler, and I was her reluctant accomplice.

"You don't have to actually talk to him," Maya insisted, shoving me toward the fortune teller tent. "Just get your palm read. If she says anything about a goldfish, we'll know the universe is on your side."

The tent smelled like incense and desperation. An old woman with way too much eyeshadow gestured for me to sit, took my hand, and traced the lines with a gnarled finger.

"You're looking for something you've already found," she said, which was annoyingly vague. "But you're too scared to reach out and grab it. Like a goldfish that stays in its bowl even when the door's open."

I left feeling more confused than when I'd walked in. Goldfish again. What was with the fish propaganda?

Outside, I spotted Jake by the baseball toss booth, absolutely failing at knocking down milk bottles. His friends were laughing, but he looked frustrated, like he took this way too seriously.

Before I could overthink it—before my palms could sweat me into submission—I walked over.

"You're leaning too far forward," I said. The words came out before my brain could censor them. "You're telegraphing your weight. Shift your back foot."

Jake looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time all year. "You play?"

"My dad's a coach," I lied. My dad was an accountant who'd never touched a baseball in his life. "Here, let me show you."

I picked up a ball, shifted my stance, and knocked down three bottles in a row. Jake's friends went quiet.

"No way," Jake said, grinning. "You're literally a spy. Why didn't I know you could do that?"

"I'm full of secrets," I said, feeling bold. "Including that I've been trying to get you to notice me since September."

"Consider me noticed," he said, and his cheeks turned pink. "Hey, my sister has this goldfish that keeps dying. She needs someone who knows what they're doing. Want to come over and help?"

I laughed so hard I snorted. "That's your pickup line? Fish CPR?"

"Hey, it worked, didn't it?" He held up the prize he'd finally won—a stuffed goldfish with wonky eyes. "For you. A prophecy fulfilled."

Jade and Maya were going to lose their minds.

I took the fish, my palm finally dry. Sometimes the universe did work in mysterious ways. Or sometimes, you just had to knock down your own metaphorical milk bottles and see what happened.