Three Seconds of Glory

The carnival goldfish—named Chandler, because I'd won him at the Lisa Kudrow Look-Alike Contest booth—stared at me through his plastic bag like he knew I was about to embarrass myself. Which I was. Definitely.

"You're literally going to talk to her?" Maya asked, fighting back laughter. She'd been waiting for this moment since seventh grade, living vicariously through my romantic paralysis. "Finally?"

"Shut up," I muttered, adjusting my jersey for the eight hundredth time. We'd survived baseball practice in ninety-degree heat, so I probably smelled like a locker room married to a dumpster fire. Perfect conditions for talking to the girl I'd been lowkey obsessed with since September.

Hailey stood by the snack shack, looking unfairly good in her softball uniform. Not fair. Nobody should look that good after sports. Some people were just born with it, and the rest of us were Chandler in his bag, swimming in circles, wondering what the actual heck was happening.

Lightning cracked across the sky—dramatic timing, universe, thanks—and thunder rumbled like my stomach had been doing all day. The weather app said 0% chance of rain. Weather apps were liars.

"Go," Maya shoved me. "Before you overthink it into oblivion again."

I walked over, each step feeling like I was underwater. Chandler swam along beside me in my head, little fish face judging my entire existence.

"Hey," Hailey looked up, and something in my chest did this involuntary flutter thing. "Nice catch today."

Wait—she'd seen me catch?

"Thanks," I managed, not squeaking. Victory. "You too. That hit was... yeah."

Wow. Smooth. Really bringing the eloquence today.

Then it happened—her eyes flicked to the plastic bag in my hand, and she smiled. Not the polite fake smile either. The real one.

"Is that a goldfish?"

"His name is Chandler," I heard myself say. "I won him. Because apparently I'm excellent at identifying which middle-aged woman looks most like a fictional character from a nineties sitcom. It's a weird flex, but it works."

She laughed. Actually laughed, head tilted back, hair falling over her shoulder, and I realized Chandler had been right all along—this whole time, I'd just been swimming in circles, overthinking everything, when all I'd needed to do was walk over and say something objectively ridiculous.

"Well, Chandler," she said, stepping closer as raindrops started falling around us, soft and warm, "I think I'm gonna like you. Both of you."