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“What’re you going to name him?” he asked as I gingerly got into the car so as not to bump the bag. My heart was beating a little faster than normal. I’d bought a fish. I could care for a fish, right?
“Police Chief Jim Hopper, fromStranger Things. Fits him, don’t you think?”
Shane sputtered as he got back on the highway. “I don’t think anything has ever looked less like a Jim Hopper, and I doubt his abilities as a police chief. His mobility is severely limited. And I don’t think fish are exactly bright.”
“Are you kidding? They can teach fish to drive cars. We don’t give the animal kingdom nearly enough credit.”
“I maintain that driving a car would raise suspicion and blow his cover pretty quickly. Also, I’m going to need supporting evidence on that,” he said. “Who is ‘they’?”
“For-real scientists. Also, done and done.” I pulled out my phone and did a quick Google search, then air-dropped him the link to a peer-reviewed scientific study I’d read about how scientists taught goldfish to drive. But I could understand his suspicion.
We chattered back and forth about the alternate worlds ofStranger Things, our childhoods, and pets we had when we were younger. I frequently checked the bag in my lap to make sure Hopper wasn’t jostled. Then something caught my eye.
“Hey, Shane, it looks like we have a hitchhiker,” I said.
“Huh?”
“There’s a tiny little thing in here with Hopper. Looks like a tadpole. Did you see her net another fish by accident?”
His forehead creased. “No, just the one.”
“Weird.” We’d gotten about a mile closer to my house when I glanced down again. “Shane! There’s another tadpole in here! There are two tadpoles in this bag! Did you see any frogs in that tank? I didn’t.”
He glanced over before deliberately keeping his eyes on the road.
“Shane?”
“I don’t think those are tadpoles, Ana. I think Hopper is giving birth.”
“No. That’s not possible. He’s a dude, she said that. I signed on for slowly killingonefish. One.”
We pulled into the lot next to my apartment complex. “Maybe I’m wrong,” he suggested.
I got out of the car and held the bag up to the light and gasped. “He just had two more! Hopper’s in labor!”
Shane winced. “I feel like this is partly my fault.”
“It’s totally your fault,” I muttered distractedly, staring at the bag. While I watched, another couple of tadpoles squeezed out of Hopper and swam around the bag. “Jesus Christ,” I whispered.
“Well, it’s nottotallymy fault. I didn’t impregnate that fish.”
Touché. I guess.
“We should probably get them inside and start acclimating,” he said, a little more loudly. “Because, you know, guppies eat their young.”
“They dowhat?” I screeched as I followed him to the door.
“They don’t eat them right away,” he assured me. “Hopper’ll be too busy for a while to notice them.”
“Too busy doing what?” I asked.
He just stared at me until I understood.
“You mean he’s not done? How many more are in there?”
He shrugged. “Hard to say. My sister had guppies growing up. They breed constantly. Like all the time. They never stop. It occurred to me briefly that Hopper might be a girl. But how would I know? I’m not a fish expert.”
“Neither was the woman at the store,” I observed.
