Bull Shark Summer

The community pool smelled like chlorine and desperation, which was basically my entire sophomore year in a nutshell. I clutched my kickboard like a lifeline, staring at the lane where my best friend Maya was doing laps like she'd been born with gills.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called, dripping wet. Her dark hair was plastered to her forehead, and she had that annoyingly confident glow of someone who'd never had a panic attack in the deep end.

"Working up to it," I lied. The truth was, I hadn't gone swimming since sixth grade, when Jason Miller—aka the actual human embodiment of every middle school bully cliché—had told everyone there was a bull shark in the pool. I'd known it was BS, but my brain had decided otherwise. Three years of aquatic avoidance later, here I was.

Maya dragged herself out of the water and sat next to me. "Still scared of the bull shark?"

"There was never a bull shark," I said automatically, then sighed. "Maybe there's a genetic defect. My mom made me start taking these vitamin D gummies because apparently I'm deficient in everything including courage."

Maya laughed. "You know Jason Miller got suspended last week for bullying the new kid?"

I perked up. "Wait, really?"

"Yep. Someone finally reported him." She nudged my shoulder. "Your nemesis is gone. The bull shark is extinct. You're running out of excuses."

I looked at the pool—just blue water, lane lines, and normal humans having fun. The monster had always been in my head.

"Fine," I said, standing up. "But if I see anything with fins, you're going in after me."

"Deal." Maya grinned. "I'll even help you finish those nasty vitamins after."

I jumped in. The water was cold, then not. My feet touched the bottom, then pushed off. I was swimming—badly, awkwardly, but swimming. No sharks. No bull. Just me and my friend, finally moving forward.