The Goldfish Serve

The goldfish—it was named Steve, obviously—floated sideways in its bowl on my nightstand, looking thoroughly depressed. Which honestly? Same energy. Three weeks into freshman year at a new school, and my social life was about as lively as Steve's.

"You're going to the padel courts, right?" My mom yelled from downstairs. "The neighbor kid invited you!"

Yeah. Tyler. The one with the perfect hair and the vague chill vibes who'd caught me walking Buster—the world's most derpy golden retriever, who'd once eaten an entire loaf of bread through the plastic wrapper—and decided I was worthy of a casual sports invitation. Padel. Which I'd never played. Because apparently my life was a series of decisions I hadn't made.

"Buster, stay," I told my dog. He immediately lay down, looking at me with soulful eyes that said I was betraying him. "Drama queen."

Steve's bowl went into my backpack because #1: I couldn't trust my little sister not to feed him actual food again, and #2: maybe having a fish made me look interesting? (It did not. I would learn this.)

The courts were behind the community center, where the popular kids congregated like they were paid to be there. Tyler waved me over, holding a padel racquet like he'd been born with it in his hand.

"Yo, you made it!" He grinned, all white teeth and easy confidence. "We needed a fourth."

"Cool. Cool cool cool." Why did I say it twice? Abort.

I set my backpack on the bench carefully—Steve inside, hoping for invisibility—and picked up a racquet. The game was basically tennis but with walls, which I learned approximately six seconds into serving when I hit the ball so hard it ricocheted off the backboard and nailed me in the forehead.

Everyone froze.

"Smooth," said a girl I didn't know, but she was kind of smiling?

Then my backpack tipped over. The bowl didn't break—I'd wrapped it in three sweatshirts because I'm not a monster—but the clatter made everyone turn.

"Is that... a fish?" Tyler asked, genuinely confused.

"His name is Steve," I said, because apparently we were doing this. "He's having a hard time."

There was a pause. Then Tyler started laughing. Not mean laughing. The real kind, where you can't breathe.

"Dude," he said, wiping his eyes. "You brought your depressed fish to padel? That's unhinged. I love it."

And just like that, the weirdness broke the ice. The girl—who introduced herself as Maya—spent the rest of the afternoon inventing a backstory for Steve's emotional issues. By sunset, I had plans to get bubble tea on Friday and three new contacts in my phone.

Walking home, Buster greeted me like I'd been gone for years, and I caught Steve giving me a side-eye through the glass. First time in three weeks, he actually swam to the front of the bowl.

"Don't worry," I told him. "We're both going to be fine."