Cable Between Palm Trees

The pool water glowed turquoise in the backyard, bodies floating like bobbing apples at a party I wasn't sure I wanted to be at. Maya had dragged me here, promising it would be "lowkey, just vibes," but the air thick with humidity and awkward energy felt anything but.

I sat on the edge, feet dangling in the cool water, nursing a warm soda. Around me, people I'd known since middle school moved like zombies through social rituals—laughing too loud, touching too much, performing versions of themselves they'd memorized like scripts.

"You good, fam?" Jace slid beside me, damp palm leaving a wet mark on the concrete. He was that friend—the one who collected people like Pokémon, never truly knowing any of them.

"Solid," I lied, watching my former best friend Allie across the pool. She was draped over some senior, hair wet and perfect, laughter carrying over the splashing. Three months ago, she'd sent me a three-word text: i need space. Now she moved through parties like we'd never shared secrets under these same palm trees, like our friendship hadn't been the kind of ride-or-die you thought would last forever.

Jace nudged me. "She looks happy."

"Yeah. Happy's the word."

My phone buzzed against my thigh—the group chat going off without me, another inside joke I wouldn't understand. The cable that had tethered me to these people, to this version of myself, had been fraying for months. Tonight, watching them float in that glowing water, something snapped.

I stood up, water dripping from my calves.

"Leaving already?" Jace called, but I was already walking past the palm trees, past the zombie routine of checking if anyone noticed, past the performance of belonging somewhere I'd outgrown.

The night air hit my skin, cooling the sweat on my back. I didn't look back at the pool, at Allie, at the version of me that would've stayed, hoping to be seen. Some cables aren't meant to hold forever—sometimes they're just there until you're ready to cut them yourself.