The Goldfish Was Right

I was literally running for my life. Okay, maybe not ACTUALLY running for my life, but definitely running away from the most humiliating moment in the history of my sixteen years on this planet. My hair—currently a disaster of frizz and failed flat-iron attempts—was streaming behind me like a rejected Victoria's Secret model.

I'd just accidentally told the entire varsity football team that their captain, Tyler "Abs" Harrison, had nice hair. IN FRONT OF EVERYONE. While I was supposed to be asking if he'd seen my missing gym bag. My brain had just... malfunctioned. Like, full-on blue screen of death.

So I ran. All the way home, up to my room, and straight to my goldfish, Bubbles.

"Bubbles," I whispered, pressing my forehead against the glass bowl. "I'm never leaving this room again. I'll become one of those mysterious homeschool kids who only comes out at night."

Bubbles just stared at me with his permanently surprised expression, swimming in his endless circles.

"You're the only one who understands me," I told him. "At least your hair always looks perfect."

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

"Hey, this is Tyler. From football? Someone said you were looking for me?"

I died. I actually died. This is a ghost typing this message.

Three days later, I was still avoiding eye contact with anyone who wore athletic gear. But then something weird happened. Tyler started sitting at my lunch table. Not AT my table—like, nearby enough that I could see him doing that nervous knee-bounce thing people do when they're uncomfortable.

"Your hair looks cool today," he said on Thursday, effectively ending my life for the second time in a week.

"Thanks," I squeaked. "I mean, not that it matters, but I like your hair too. I mean—shut up, brain."

He laughed. Not that fake laugh people do when they're being nice. The real one.

"Nobody ever notices my hair," he said. "Usually it's just 'good game, Tyler' or 'you dropped that pass, Tyler.'"

"Well," I managed, "it's nice hair. Very... hair-like."

We started talking after that. And somehow, my hair—formerly the source of all my insecurities—became this inside joke between us. He'd text me "how's the hair situation today?" and I'd send back pics of my latest attempts at not looking like I'd been electrocuted.

Bubbles turned out to be right about something (I'm assuming—goldfish wisdom is real, look it up). The stuff that makes you want to run away forever? That's just the universe setting you up for something better. Even if it starts with social suicide and ends with a football player who somehow thinks your disastrous hair is endearing.

Some days I still catch Bubbles swimming in those same endless circles, and I get it. Sometimes you're just running in place until something finally pushes you forward. For me, it was a compliment gone wrong, a goldfish with attitude, and a guy who actually noticed my hair for all the right reasons.