Breathing Under

The pool party text had been sitting in my notifications for three hours. Maya's doing it again—everyone's going, you should come. I stared at my ceiling, doing the mental math: social death vs. actual death by embarrassment. My hands were already sweating.

I hadn't gone swimming since the Incident last summer. You know the one. Where you're splashing around with your crush and suddenly your period shows up like an uninvited guest wearing a neon sign. Jason had been cool about it, but I'd spent the rest of June in my room, watching TikToks about how to disappear.

But sophomore year was supposed to be different. New me, same face, slightly better skincare routine.

The community center smelled like chlorine and cheap flip-flops. Through the glass doors, I could see everyone already in the water—Maya laughing at something Leo said, Kai doing a dramatic cannonball off the diving board. I stood there in my orange towel, feeling like the world's most conspicuous wallflower.

"You coming in or what?" It was Kai, dripping wet and way too close. His hair was plastered to his forehead and he had this stupid grin that made my stomach do things I didn't want to analyze.

"I'm good," I said, clutching my towel like a security blanket. "Just enjoying the atmosphere."

"The atmosphere is ninety degrees and moderately gross," he said. "Come on. I won't tell anyone you're secretly a mermaid."

I laughed despite myself. "That's literally the opposite of a secret."

"Then what is it?" His face softened. "You know nobody cares about last year, right? Jason moved to Ohio. We literally never talk about it."

The air conditioning hummed. Somewhere behind us, a little kid screamed doing a backflip.

"I just—I don't want to be the person who makes everything weird," I said quietly.

Kai studied me for a second. Then he said, "You know what's weird? Standing by the door in a bikini holding a neon-orange towel while everyone else is having fun. That's weird behavior, honestly."

I looked at the pool. At Maya waving me over. At the water sparkling like someone had spilled liquid diamonds.

"Okay," I said. "But if I drown, you have to delete my browser history."

"Deal." He grinned. "Race you to the deep end."

I dropped the towel. I didn't win the race, but for the first time in months, I felt like I could breathe—under water or above it.