Beneath the Surface

Marcus stood at the edge of the pool, clutching his phone like a lifeline. The group chat notification glowed in the darkness: *party @ Jake's, u coming?*

He stared at his reflection in the still **water**, wondering how he'd ended up here—alone on a Friday night while everyone else was probably living their best lives. The social hierarchy at Westridge High was like a pyramid scheme he'd never signed up for, and somehow, he'd landed at the bottom.

"You're not gonna jump in, are you?"

Marcus spun around. Zahra stood there, her varsity jacket draped over one shoulder. She was basically the **sphinx** of the swim team—mysterious, intimidating, and rumored to have rejected half the football team.

"I'm just thinking," he mumbled.

"About how Tyler posted that TikTok of you wiping out during gym class?"

Marcus felt his face burn. That was yesterday. Apparently, humiliation had a shelf life of approximately zero seconds at his school. Tyler had been riding him all semester—classic **bull** behavior that the teachers somehow never noticed.

"Look," Zahra said, sliding her phone across the bench. "Tyler's been spreading rumors about me since freshman year because I wouldn't go to homecoming with him. You know what I did?"

"What?"

"I started documenting everything. Screenshots, dates, times. And then I posted a compilation tag that went viral. Our school has a zero-tolerance policy now." She grinned. "Sometimes you have to be the **lightning** that strikes back."

Marcus stared at her, then at his phone. The group chat was still blowing up.

"Or," Zahra said, "you could just come to this protest downtown with me instead. We're marching against the new dress code policy."

The pool lights flickered overhead, casting ripples across the **water**. Marcus thought about everything he'd been holding back—all the moments he'd stayed silent, all the jokes he'd laughed along with because he was too scared to speak up.

He grabbed his towel.

"Let me grab my jacket."