“How do you know?”
“Because sharks don’t...” The fish breaks the surface, thrashing. “...do that.”
It’s a striper. A big one. And it is absolutely furious about its current situation.
I haul it up onto the pier, and the second it hits the boards, chaos erupts.
The fish flops violently, like someone put a motor inside it and set it to maximum rage.
“Grab it!” I yell.
“Grab it?” Delilah looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “With what? My hands?”
“Yes!”
“It’s slimy!”
“It’s a fish!”
“Exactly!” She backs up another step. “I sell flowers, Levi. Flowers. They don’t move. They don’t have opinions. They don’t...”
The fish lands directly in my tackle box, sending hooks and lures scattering across the boards.
“Oh no.” I lunge for it.
The fish dodges.
I’m not kidding. It actually dodges. Like it saw me coming and made a tactical decision.
“Did that fish just...” Delilah starts.
“Don’t say it.”
The fish thrashes toward her. She shrieks and jumps onto the bench. It changes direction and heads for the edge of the pier.
“It’s going to escape!” I dive.
I get my hands on it. It’s like trying to hold a wet, angry torpedo. The thing thrashes, and before I can adjust my grip, it smacks me directly in the face with its tail.
I hear Delilah, full-on can’t-breathe tears-streaming laughter.
“This isn’t...” The fish smacks me again. “...funny!”
“It’s so funny,” she gasps. “It’s the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
The fish makes one final bid for freedom, wiggling out of my grip and flopping toward the edge of the pier. I scramble after it, but I’m too late.
It launches itself off the edge and disappears into the water with a splash that feels distinctly triumphant.
I sit there, covered in fish slime, dignity in ruins.
Delilah is crying with laughter.
“That fish,” she wheezes, “had a personal vendetta against you.”
“It was a menace.”
“It won.”
