Bear Float Summer

The summer before sophomore year, swimming at Jordan's pool party felt like walking into a minefield in just a swimsuit. I'd spent the morning group-chatting with the crew, but when I climbed out of the pool, dripping water and feeling like everyone was staring, my iPhone buzzed with a text from Marcus.

"u coming later?"

"yeah"

"cool. jake's bringing his new gf."

That's when I saw it. In the middle of the pool, bobbing like a ridiculous island, was a giant inflatable bear. Someone had taped a paper sign to its chest: PROPERTY OF THE COOL KIDS.

I'd known Jordan since elementary school. We'd learned to swim together in this exact pool. But somehow, between eighth grade graduation and now, our friendship had become something fragile, like thin ice over deep water.

"Hey!" Jordan waved from the bear floatie, surrounded by his new friends. "Wanna switch?"

He was addressing Jake, who looked way too comfortable in a polo shirt at a pool party. But Jake shook his head. "Nah, I'm good."

Then Quinn—Jake's girlfriend, who I'd sat behind in algebra last year—grinned at me. "I'll race you for it."

Before I could process, she pushed off the side, cutting through the water with shocking speed. I dove after her, strokes sloppy and desperate, everything narrowing down to the blue vinyl of the bear's belly and the way Quinn's laugh echoed off the water.

She tagged the bear first, then reached back to grab my hand. "Gotcha."

We treaded water there for a second, her makeup somehow intact, my hair plastered to my forehead.

"You're faster than you look," she said. "What else are you hiding?"

What else was I hiding? The fact that I felt like I was losing my best friend? That every social interaction felt like swimming upstream?

Instead I said, "I can do a killer cannonball off the diving board."

Quinn's eyes lit up. "Show me."

Jordan watched as we swam to the board, his expression unreadable. But as I climbed the ladder, Quinn called out, "Make it worth it!"

I launched off the board, tucking tight, and hit the water in a perfect explosion. When I surfaced, Quinn and Jordan were both laughing, really laughing, like the old days when nothing mattered except who could hold their breath longest.

"Okay," Jordan said, paddling over. "You deserve the bear."

But Quinn shook her head. "Share it. That's what friends do, right?"

The three of us crowded onto that ridiculous bear floatie, legs dangling in the water, and I realized that maybe growing up wasn't about everything changing. Maybe it was about finding new ways to swim in the same old water.