The Goldfish Protocol

The cafeteria was basically a social pyramid, and I was somewhere in the basement with the recycling bins. While Jessica and her minions ruled the top table, I sat three rows back, strategically positioned near the exit for optimal escape velocity.

"Did you see Marcus at practice?" Mia whispered, sliding into the seat across from me. "He was absolutely flying. You should've gone to the meet."

I winced. Marcus, star of the track team, had been running literal circles around my heart since September. Meanwhile, I'd been hiding in the bathroom during lunch until I figured out how to exist in the same room as him without my brain glitching.

"I had to, uh, feed my goldfish," I said.

Mia stared at me. "You don't have a goldfish."

"His name is Steve and he's very demanding."

The truth was messier. My parents still had cable television—literally actual cable, like we were living in 2008—which meant no streaming, no social media on the TV, and somehow this translated to me being culturally behind by approximately three weeks. Everything Marcus referenced went straight over my head.

But today was different. Today I'd spent forty minutes standing in front of the bathroom mirror practicing my casual greeting. Hey Marcus. No, too eager. What's up, Marcus? Too try-hard. Marcus! Too enthusiastic.

The universe, however, had other plans.

I was walking past the water fountain—the good one, with the perfect temperature—when someone slammed into me from behind. My textbooks went everywhere. I hit the ground hard.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry!"

I looked up into the very face I'd been mentally rehearsing for. Marcus. Standing there in his track uniform, all flushed and cute and completely catastrophic to my nervous system.

"It's fine," I squeaked.

He helped me gather my scattered books. "You're in my English class, right? We're doing that project on Gatsby next week."

"Yeah."

"Cool." He grinned. "Hey, some of us are going to the lake this weekend. You should come. We're probably just gonna swim and stuff."

"Like, in the water?" I asked, because apparently my brain had stopped processing language.

Marcus laughed. "Yeah, that's typically how lakes work."

"Smooth," I whispered to myself.

"So?"

"Yes," I said, possibly too quickly. "Like, definitely yes."

"Awesome." He backed away, still smiling. "See you in English."

I watched him go, then sat on the floor for a solid thirty seconds just processing. I'd survived an actual conversation with Marcus. I'd been invited somewhere. And somewhere in this mess of awkwardness, I'd accidentally started living.

"Steve would be proud," I whispered to no one.

The social pyramid could wait. I was busy climbing my way out of the basement, one awkward interaction at a time.