Breathless

I was drowning on dry land, and honestly? Kind of thriving at it.

Practice had ended forty minutes ago, but I was still at the pool, staring at my reflection in the mirror. Swimming had always been my thing—the water didn't care that I was awkward on land, didn't notice that I never knew what to say to anyone in the halls. In the water, I was fast. I was graceful. I was someone.

On land? I was just the girl who couldn't talk to boys without forgetting how words worked.

"Earth to Maya," said Jordan, snapping her fingers in my face. "You've been staring at yourself for, like, seven minutes. Should I be worried?"

"Just mentally preparing for tomorrow's meet," I lied. "Against Central."

"Right. Because you definitely need mental prep for the school you're gonna destroy." Jordan slung her bag over her shoulder. "You coming? I need boba like I need oxygen."

"You go ahead. I gotta... finish something."

Jordan narrowed her eyes. "Finish what, exactly?"

"Nothing! Just... homework stuff. You know how it is."

She didn't look convinced, but she also didn't care enough to press. "Whatever. Don't drown in your thoughts. Literally. Text me if you survive."

The door clicked shut behind her, and finally, finally, I pulled out my phone and opened Instagram.

I knew it was pathetic. I knew checking Liam's story for the third time today was literally unhinged behavior. But here we were. I'd been basically spy-ing on him for weeks, learning everything I could without ever actually speaking to him. His dog was named Barnaby. He liked indie bands I'd never heard of. He posted sunsets like they were his job.

We'd shared Biology last year, sat two desks apart. He'd asked to borrow a pencil once, and I'd handed him one without making eye contact, my face burning like I'd caught fire.

Cool. Smooth. Definitely not still thinking about it eight months later.

I clicked through his story—another sunset, another artsy coffee shot, and then—

Wait.

There was a girl in his newest post. Blonde, laughing, her hand on his arm like it belonged there. Caption: "Finally convinced this one to hang out 😏"

My stomach did this awful twisting thing, like someone had reached in and tied it in knots. I felt ridiculous. I felt like the absolute bull in china shop version of a human being—clumsy, wrong, too much, taking up space where I didn't belong.

Why did I care? We weren't friends. We weren't anything. I was just the quiet swim girl who couldn't talk to boys without forgetting how to be a person.

I shoved my phone in my bag, grabbed my stuff, and started running.

Not running away. Not exactly. Just—moving. Fast. Like if I went fast enough, I could leave behind the version of myself who checked Instagram stories and pretended she was just doing homework. Like if my feet hit the pavement hard enough, I could outrun the feeling that I was always, always missing something everyone else had figured out.

The air was cold against my face. My lungs burned in a way that felt honest. This was real—this was my body, my effort, me choosing something and doing it. Not watching. Not waiting.

My phone buzzed in my pocket.

I slowed to a walk, breathing hard, and pulled it out.

Jordan: [boba run turned into boba adventure. also why are you not answering your phone]

Me: [running]

Jordan: [what? why? you hate running]

Me: [I don't know. just felt like it]

Jordan: [weirdo. also liam posted something and i know you saw it]

Me: [I hate you]

Jordan: [he's at the coffee shop on 4th. the one with the terrible scones. if you wanted to know. which you didn't. because you're too cool for that]

I stared at my phone. My heart was already racing from the run, but now it was doing something else entirely.

I could go home. I could pretend I hadn't seen anything. I could keep swimming through life in the safety lane, where nothing scary ever happened because I never let it.

Or.

I turned toward 4th Street.

My hands were shaking. My palms were sweaty. This was possibly the worst idea I'd ever had, and that was saying something, considering the time I'd tried to dye my hair purple and ended up looking like a grape.

But I kept walking.

Because maybe—just maybe—it was time to stop running. Time to stop watching from the edge of the pool and actually jump in.

Even if the water was cold. Even if I might drown.

At least I'd finally be swimming.