The Goldfish Summer

The padel court smelled like expensive sunscreen and desperation. I leaned against the chain-link fence, watching Chase - who was somehow both the varsity captain and my lab partner - destroy some sophomore I didn't recognize. His back muscles rippled under his damp shirt every time he smashed the ball, and I hated that I noticed.

"You're staring again," Maya whispered from beside me, handing me a cutie orange. "It's getting creepy."

"I'm not staring. I'm observing." I peeled the orange, letting the citrus spray cut through the humid August air. "There's a difference."

"There's really not." She popped a slice into her mouth. "Anyway, remember how you said you were done with his whole thing? After homecoming?"

I did remember. Homecoming, when he'd spent forty minutes talking to me about his dead goldfish - literal tears, Bubbles had been with him through the divorce - and then proceeded to slow dance with Jessica Martinez like nothing had happened. I'd gone home and cried for three hours straight.

"People change," I said weakly.

"People don't change. You just have terrible taste."

Chase walked over then, grabbing his water bottle from the bench. His eyes caught mine, and for a second, I swear he actually saw me. "Hey, Riley. You coming to Danny's tonight?"

My palm went instantly sweaty. "Maybe?"

"You should."

He walked away, and Maya made a face. "See? Terrible taste."

Danny's house was massive, the kind with actual palm trees lining the driveway because apparently regular trees weren't rich enough. The party was already in full swing when I arrived, bass thumping through the expensive drywall. I gravitated toward the kitchen, because at least I could pretend I was looking for a drink.

That's when I heard it.

"Dude, you actually brought it?"

"Yeah, look at him - he's huge."

I followed the voices onto the back porch, where Chase and his friends were gathered around something on the outdoor furniture. A bear cub. Small, confused, definitely not supposed to be within fifty miles of suburban Connecticut.

"My dad's client knows a guy who does exotic pets," Chase was saying, sounding proud. "We're gonna keep him in the treehouse."

The bear made a sound, half-whimper, half-growl, and my stomach dropped. This wasn't right. This was so far from right.

"You can't just -" I started, and everyone turned.

"Riley." Chase raised an eyebrow. "You okay?"

"That's a wild animal," I said, my voice shaking. "You can't keep a bear like it's a fucking goldfish."

Someone snorted. Chase's face hardened. "Chill, it's fine. We're handling it."

"You're really not." I pulled out my phone. "I'm calling animal control."

The room went quiet. Not like before - not awkward quiet, but something else. Like I'd suddenly become the main character instead of the background extra.

"Don't," Chase said, stepping closer. "Seriously, Riley, don't be that person."

"That person?" I laughed, and it came out steadier than I felt. "You mean the person who gives a shit? Cool, cool."

I dialed. By the time animal control arrived, half the party had scattered, but the people who stayed - the ones who'd helped me keep the bear calm in the bathroom while we waited - were looking at me different. Including Chase, who wouldn't meet my eyes.

Later, Maya found me sitting on the front steps, watching the taillights fade.

"So," she said, sitting beside me. "That happened."

"Yeah."

"Chase is telling everyone you're crazy."

I thought about it - about the bear, about Chase's face when I'd stood up to him, about the way my hands had stopped shaking five minutes in. About how I'd rather be crazy than the kind of person who keeps a wild animal in a treehouse.

"Let him," I said, finally peeling that last orange slice I'd been clutching for hours. "I think I'm done with terrible taste anyway."