Three Second Rule

The carnival lights blurred against my glasses, but I didn't wipe them. That would look too eager, and Jordan was already three steps ahead, weaving through the crowd like she owned every square inch of cramped, sticky pavement.

"Wait up," I called, but the words dissolved into the cotton candy soundtrack of Friday night.

Jordan spun around, her silver hoop earrings catching the neon glow. "Live in the moment, Ash. Don't be such a grandma." She looped her arm through mine, pulling me toward the ring toss booth where Lucas stood with his varsity jacket and that smile that made my stomach do actual gymnastics.

"Hey," he said, and I suddenly forgot how to speak English. "Wanna try?"

Jordan's eyes narrowed the exact way a **fox** sizes up something smaller and weaker. "Ash is amazing at this. She played, like, arcade games all summer."

I had not. I'd spent all summer watching Netflix and overanalyzing text messages that never got sent. But Lucas was already handing me three rings, his fingers brushing mine in a way that made my brain short-circuit.

First ring: bounced off the bottle and landed somewhere under the booth.

Second ring: hit the target but refused to commit.

Third ring: a solid, perfect throw. It looped around the bottle's neck like it belonged there.

"No way!" Lucas high-fived me, and Jordan's expression tightened into something that looked suspiciously like betrayal.

The carnie gestured to the wall of prizes. "Pick your prize."

My eyes landed on a tiny plastic bag containing the saddest **goldfish** I'd ever seen, swimming in what looked like three tablespoons of water. Its eyes were bugged out, its mouth opening and closing in tiny, panicked gasps. It looked exactly how I felt every time my mother asked if I'd made any friends yet.

"That one," I said, pointing.

Jordan scoffed. "Seriously? You could have gotten the giant plush tiger."

"I like the fish," I said, even though I didn't. Not really. But something about its weird, panicked existence spoke to me on a spiritual level.

"Whatever." Jordan flipped her hair. "My mom says carnival fish always die within like, two days. It's basically animal cruelty."

"My mom would probably make me feed it **vitamin** drops," I said, trying to make it sound like a joke. But the truth was, my mom had become obsessed with wellness culture ever since my dad moved out. Our kitchen looked like a pharmacy: vitamin C, vitamin D, magnesium, probiotics, something called "adrenal support" that tasted like dirt and despair.

Lucas laughed, and the sound was warmer than it should have been. "Well, at least you won something."

Jordan was already scrolling through her phone, clearly bored. "I'm gonna get churros. Coming?"

"In a minute," I said.

She walked away without looking back, and I stood there holding my tiny plastic bag, watching the goldfish swim in frantic circles. Lucas watched me, and for a second, the noise of the carnival faded into background static.

"You know," he said, "my brother won one of these last year. Named it Toast. It lived for like, three years."

"Toast?" I smiled.

"He's not exactly creative." Lucas leaned against the booth, suddenly not in a rush to follow Jordan. "What are you gonna name yours?"

I thought about everything I couldn't say: that I felt like I was drowning in shallow water just like this fish, that I followed Jordan around because I was terrified of being alone, that I'd never actually talked to Lucas before tonight because he existed in a different solar system of high school hierarchy.

"Chaos," I said finally.

He grinned. "Fitting."

Jordan texted me: *r u coming???*

I looked at my phone, then at Lucas, then at my fish doing its best to survive in too-small space.

"Actually," I said, "do you want help finding some actual food for Chaos? I think he deserves better than this bag."

Lucas's smile was genuine this time. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

We walked away from the lights, away from Jordan, and for the first time all night, I didn't feel like I was holding my breath waiting for something real to happen.

**Goldfish** have a three-second memory, they say. But standing there under the flickering carnival lights, holding a plastic bag with a fish and a boy who actually wanted to listen, I knew some things were worth remembering forever.