Bear Market at the Pool

The chlorine smell hit me before I even opened the locker room door. Another day of swimming laps, another day of pretending I didn't feel like a fraud in a Speedo.

"Yo Marcus, you gonna race me today?" Jason called from the pool deck, flipping his wet hair like he was in a shampoo commercial. The guy had zero chill.

"Maybe after warmups," I said, reaching into my bag. My fingers brushed against Mr. Cuddles—my childhood teddy bear, stitched back together three times, currently living in my swim bag because apparently sixteen-year-old me wasn't ready to let go. Whatever. Don't judge.

Coach blew the whistle. "Alright everyone, suicides! Let's go!"

My body went through the motions while my brain replayed yesterday's conversation with Maya. She'd caught me texting Mr. Cuddles a good night message (YES, I text my stuffed bear, NO, I don't need therapy) and gave me this look that was half confused, half soft.

"Actually, that's kind of sweet," she'd said. "Like, you're not afraid to keep parts of yourself alive."

I'd nearly drowned right there in the hallway.

After practice, Jason cornered me by the vending machines. "So I heard you're still sleeping with stuffed animals. That's—"

"Complete bull?" I cut him off. Something in my chest clicked open. "Yeah, actually. Mr. Cuddles has been through every panic attack, every nightmare, every time I felt like disappearing. He's seen more real emotion than whatever fake cool-guy routine you're running."

Jason's face went blank. The hallway got quiet.

"And you know what?" I kept going, heart hammering. "I'm done acting like being human is embarrassing. We're all swimming through stuff we don't talk about. At least I'm not drowning alone."

Maya appeared behind Jason, grinning like she'd won the lottery. "There he is," she said. "About time."

That night, I texted Mr. Cuddles: *Night, buddy. We're gonna be okay.*

And for the first time in forever, I actually believed it.