The Goldfish Summit

Maya stared at the cafeteria ceiling, watching the dust motes float like tiny confused astronauts. The social hierarchy at Northwood High operated like a pyramid she could never quite climb – varsity athletes at the apex, then the cool crowd, then everyone else trying desperately not to slide down to the bottom tier where the kids who still played Magic cards at lunch resided.

That's where she'd spent freshman year. But sophomore year was supposed to be different.

"Earth to Maya," Jordan snapped his fingers. "You gonna eat that tater tot?"

She slid her tray toward him. Jordan had been her next-door neighbor since they were five, back when they'd buried a goldfish together in his backyard because they couldn't figure out how to flush it without their parents noticing. He'd cried. She'd pretended not to.

Now Jordan was varsity baseball material – tall, lanky, with that effortless confidence that made everything seem like a joke. Including her.

"Tryouts are Friday," he said, already reaching for her last tater tot. "You should come watch."

"Watch you strike out again?"

"Ha ha. Coach says I've got a real shot at starting this year. No cap."

The baseball team at their school wasn't exactly legendary – they'd finished last season 3-17 – but being on varsity still meant something. It meant you were part of the pyramid's upper crust, not stuck in the middle with everyone else.

Friday afternoon found her at the baseball diamond, sitting on the bleachers with a book she wasn't reading. Jordan stepped up to the plate, his practice jersey fluttering like he didn't care, but she knew better. She could see it in how he adjusted his batting helmet, how he dug his cleats into the dirt.

The pitcher wound up and threw. Jordan's swing connected with a crack that echoed through the empty field. The ball soared past the infield, past the outfield, all the way to the fence.

"YO!" Jordan shouted, pumping his fist as he rounded the bases. "Did you SEE that?"

She did see it. She also saw something else – Coach was watching Jordan like he'd just discovered fire, nodding, writing something on his clipboard. The social pyramid was about to rearrange itself, and Jordan would be climbing to the top.

Later, as they walked home under streetlights that buzzed like angry insects, Jordan couldn't stop grinning. "I'm gonna be starting third base, Maya. No lie."

"That's awesome," she said, and it was. She just couldn't explain why her chest felt tight, why she kept remembering the goldfish funeral all those years ago. How some things stayed buried and some things didn't.

"Hey." Jordan stopped walking. "You're coming to the first game, right?"

"Wouldn't miss it."

"Good. Because I need someone in the bleachers who knows I once cried over a fish named Captain Fin."

She laughed, and the tightness in her chest loosened. The pyramid could wait. Some things were more important than climbing.