Chlorine Dreams

The giant vitamin sat on the kitchen counter like a radioactive green marble. Mom swore it would help with stress, but I was pretty sure swallowing something the size of a small planet would only create new ones.

"You forgot it again," she said, sliding the bottle toward my toast.

"I'm literally running late,"

"Marcus takes his every morning."

Of course he did. Perfect Marcus with his perfect grades and his perfect lacrosse scholarship and his perfect girlfriend who definitely didn't have a secret crush on his best friend.

I grabbed the vitamin and fake-swallowed it. Palm it, fake it, never forget it. A survival strategy.

At school, Leah caught my eye in the hallway and immediately turned to talk to someone else. Someone who wasn't me. Three years of friendship dissolving over one stupid mistake I couldn't even apologize for because she wouldn't let me close enough to try.

Sixth period. The one bright spot in this dumpster fire of a week. Swimming.

I'd joined the team on a whim sophomore year, mostly because I needed a PE credit and the uniform looked better than track's tiny shorts. But something about slipping beneath the surface—where sound becomes muffled and gravity doesn't exist and no one can see you cry—felt like cheating the system of having to exist.

The pool area always smelled like chlorine and teenage boy deodorant, but I'd grown to love it. Coach Miller blew his whistle, and I kicked off the wall, slicing through water that felt like liquid silk.

Four laps. Five. The rhythm became everything—stroke, breathe, kick, breathe. My hair streamed behind me like a dark flag, and I briefly considered the buzz cut I'd been fantasizing about. Something drastic. Something that said I was different now, even if I didn't know how yet.

After practice, I found Leah waiting by my locker. My heart did something complicated.

"Your mom called my mom," she said without preamble. "She's worried about you."

"Great. Because what this situation needed was more parental involvement."

"She thinks you're not eating." Leah shifted her weight. "She found the vitamins in your trash."

The fact that my mom had gone through my garbage should have surprised me more.

"I'm fine," I said, even though we both knew I wasn't.

Leah's expression softened. "I know what you're going through. With your parents splitting up and everything."

"You don't, actually. You have the perfect family."

"Perfect?" She laughed bitterly. "My dad's been sleeping in his office for three months. I just don't advertise it on Instagram."

The revelation hung between us, softening something.

"Want to come over?" I heard myself say. "We can throw the actual vitamins against my backyard fence. See which one cracks first."

She smiled—a real one. "Only if I get to throw first."

Maybe perfect didn't exist. Maybe we were all just swimming underwater, waiting for someone to notice we couldn't breathe.

Maybe that was okay.