The first thing I see the next morning is the last thing I ever wanted to see.
It’s Zip, and he’s not zippy or swimmy. He’s floating.
Not in a fun way, either.
He is on his side, and he is surrounded by gummy brown fish food that is all stuck together. The fish food covers the entire surface of the water in Ms. Sanchez’s newly decorated bowl, which is sitting on my desk.
Zip is dead.
Zip, with the white spot on his stomach.
Zip, who was smart, you could just tell.
Zip, who knew me.
Zip, who was counting on me to take good care of him.
What happened?
Alfie. That’s what happened. This is a disaster.
“Alfie,” I shout. “Alfie! Come in here right now and see what you did!”
Instead of Alfie, Mom comes rushing into my room. “EllRay, what in the world is going on?” she asks. “Alfie is brushing her teeth.” And then she sees the fish bowl—and what is floating in it.
Zip is so dead that he practically has little Xs where his eyes are, like in the cartoons.
“Oh, my,” Mom says, covering her mouth with her hand. “And this would be the morning your father left early to go to the gym.”
“Alfie murdered Zip,” I say, in case Mom has missed seeing the empty fish food container lying next to the bowl. “She fed him to death. She begged and begged me to let her help, and I finally said yes, but I told her two shakes. And look what she did!”
Alfie trots into my room, her pink toothbrush drooping in her hand. “What’s the matter, EllWay?” she asks.
“A dead goldfish, that’s what’s the matter, Einstein,” I tell her, pointing.
PLONK goes her goopy toothbrush onto my floor. “Swimmy!” Alfie cries, throwing herself against the bowl and hugging it with both arms.
“His name’s Zip!” I say, shouting again. “At least it was. What did you do?”
By now, of course, Alfie is sobbing—like that’s going to help Zip. Or me. “I wanted him to have a pa-a-arty,” she wails. “I felt sorry for him! And I thought if I fed him all at once, I wouldn’t have to do it anymore from now on. I could just play with him.”
“Well, congratulations,” I tell her. “Because now, no one has to feed him. He’s dead forever! And what am I supposed to tell Ms. Sanchez next Monday? ‘Sorry I killed the brand-new pet that your boyfriend won for you at the church festival, but I couldn’t keep a goldfish alive even for a week?’ How is that gonna make me look, did you ever think of that, Alfie? Huh? Everyone in my class is going to hate me!”
“Who cares how it makes you look?” Alfie yells back at me, tears spurting out of her eyes. “Think about Swimmy!”