Three Words for Kai

The goldfish wasn't supposed to be there.

But there it was, floating in its plastic bag like a tiny orange ghost, mocking my entire existence. I'd won it at the carnival—honestly, who even plays those games anymore?—and now I was carrying it through the most important hangout of my sophomore year.

Marcus's house. His parents were out. His older sister's cool friends might be there. This was it. The moment to level up from 'random guy from bio' to 'someone Marcus actually texts back.'

But I had a goldfish.

'Dude,' Marcus said when he opened the door, his eyes darting between me and the bag. 'What's with the... aquatic life?'

'Long story,' I said, trying to play it cool. 'My little sister's birthday. I'm holding it hostage until she finishes her homework.' Which was a total lie, but whatever.

We went down to his basement room—the sanctuary. Posters of bands I pretended to know covered the walls. His gaming setup was insane: multiple monitors, RGB everything, and a tangle of cables behind the desk that looked like someone had tried to medusa a snake pit.

'Sit wherever,' Marcus said, grabbing a controller. 'You play Valorant?'

'Stuck in Silver,' I admitted. Which was true. The lie was that I played at all. I just watched streamers and nodded along when my friends discussed ranked matches.

Marcus's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and smirked. 'Yo, your crush is texting you?' I teased, trying to sound casual. That's what guys do, right? Bro stuff.

'Ha, I wish,' he said. 'It's Jasmine. She's having people over later. Wants to know if we want to come through.'

Jasmine. The Jasmine. Junior class president, volleyball starter, the kind of girl who actually participated in spirit week and made it look good. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to organ.

'Yeah,' I said, way too fast. 'We should go.' Then I remembered the goldfish. 'But I need to... deal with this situation first.'

Marcus laughed. 'Just put it in a bowl or something. My mom has these decorative ones in the kitchen.'

We went upstairs, goldfish in hand. The kitchen smelled like something exotic and expensive—papaya, maybe? His parents were always trying new recipes from their cooking shows. There was a sliced papaya on the counter, bright orange and glistening, looking like something you'd post on Instagram just to prove you had a more cultured life than your high school peers.

'Check it,' Marcus said, holding up his phone. 'Jasmine sent the address. It's that rich neighborhood by the country club.'

'Nice,' I said, suddenly hyper-aware of my thrifted hoodie and converses. 'You think we should bring something?'

'Like what?'

'I don't know. Food? Everyone likes food.' I gestured at the papaya. 'Your parents always have fancy stuff.'

Marcus shrugged. 'Sure. They won't miss it.'

So that's how I ended up at the most important social event of the year carrying a goldfish in a water bottle and a Tupperware container of sliced papaya like I was some kind of exotic fruit dealer. Because nothing says 'normal teenager' quite like showing up with tropical fruit and a pet you won forty minutes earlier.

The night was a blur of too-loud music, people whose names I learned and immediately forgot, and Marcus actually talking to Jasmine like it was the most natural thing in the world. I ended up in the kitchen with some sophomore who was equally out of place, bonding over our mutual awkwardness while my goldfish swam in its temporary home—a decorative vase on the counter.

'So,' she said, eyeing the fish. 'Win it at a carnival?'

'How'd you guess?'

She smiled. 'I'm psychic. Also, my brother did the exact same thing last year. Named his fish Dog because he said it followed him around.'

I laughed. 'I haven't named mine yet. Suggestions?'

'Papaya,' she said, deadpan. 'Since you brought some. Matching themes.'

'Papaya the goldfish,' I said. 'Has a ring to it.'

We talked for an hour while the party happened around us. About how we both felt like we were faking our way through high school, about the pressure to be someone we weren't, about how papaya was actually pretty good once you got past the weird texture.

When Marcus found us, he was with Jasmine, and they were both grinning like they'd just discovered a secret portal to Narnia.

'Yo,' Marcus said, 'Jasmine says we should all hang out tomorrow. She knows this spot with the best boba in town.'

The girl—whose name I learned was Mia—nodded at my goldfish. 'Bring Papaya?' she suggested.

'Definitely,' I said.

Later that night, as I settled into bed with my new fish on my nightstand, my phone buzzed. It was Mia.

'Papaya the goldfish says goodnight,' she'd texted, with a fish emoji.

I smiled in the dark. Some nights you win a goldfish. Some nights you meet someone who gets your weird jokes about tropical fruit. And some nights, if you're lucky, you figure out that the person you're trying to become might already be worth knowing.