What the Goldfish Knew

I'd spent forty-five minutes on my hair that morning, trying to make it look like I hadn't spent forty-five minutes on my hair. The kinda-messy-but-still-cute vibe that Taylor at school made look effortless. Mine just looked like I'd been attacked by a wind tunnel.

"You look beautiful," Mom said, sliding a plate of spinach and eggs across the counter. "Eat your vegetables. They'll make your hair shiny."

"Mom, no one's hair gets shiny from spinach. That's not how biology works." But I ate it anyway because arguing took energy I didn't have.

The real problem was Jason's party tonight. Everyone was going, including Taylor, and I'd been psyching myself up for weeks to finally talk to them. Not like talk-talk, but actually say something that wasn't just "here" or "thanks" or awkward silence.

My cat Luna wound around my legs, meowing for food. At least someone thought I was worth paying attention to.

"You're lucky," I told her, filling her bowl. "You don't have to worry about saying the wrong thing and having everyone replay it in their heads forever."

Luna just ate and ignored me, which honestly was valid.

The goldfish bowl sat on my dresser, glowing with that weird ethereal light from those LED lights I'd bought because TikTok said they were aesthetic. Goldie swam in endless circles, never questioning her place in the world, never overthinking every social interaction.

Sometimes I felt like Goldie – just going through the same motions, swimming in the same patterns, while everyone else seemed to know some secret about existing that I hadn't been let in on.

That night at Jason's, Taylor actually said hey to me first.

"Your hair looks really good tonight," they said, and my brain short-circuited because wasn't I supposed to be the one noticing their hair?

"Thanks! I mean, thanks. I mean –" Stop talking. "You too. I mean, yours too. Not that yours looks like mine, obviously, just that yours looks good. Like, really good." I was pretty sure I was having a stroke.

But Taylor laughed, and not in a mean way.

"You're funny," they said, and something in my chest did this little flip thing that definitely wasn't from the spinach.

Later, when I got home and collapsed onto my bed, Goldie did a little swim-by like she knew something had changed. Luna jumped up and head-butted my chin.

"Maybe," I whispered into the darkness, "I'm not as bad at this as I thought."

My hair was a mess again. I hadn't said anything profound. But for the first time in forever, I felt like I might actually be figuring it out – one awkward conversation, one spinach-filled breakfast, one goldfish-approved moment at a time.