Dead Battery at the Deep End

Maya stood at the edge of the swimming pool, clutching her iPhone like a lifeline. The sophomore summer splash party. Every. Single. Year. And every single year, she spent two hours psyching herself up to actually get in the water.

Around her, everyone moved like zombies—faces illuminated by the blue glow of their screens, thumbs scrolling, posting, performing. Jenna and her squad had taken forty-seven photos already. Forty-seven. Maya knew because she'd counted while pretending to check nonexistent messages.

"Maya! Get in here!" someone yelled.

She forced a smile. "Coming!"

Her phone buzzed. 12% battery. A tiny panic fluttered in her chest. What if something happened? What if someone texted? What if she missed something?

But then she saw it: Jenna, waist-deep in the pool, selfie stick extended, making that same pose she made in every single photo. The one that looked effortless but totally wasn't. Behind her, three other girls froze like statues, waiting for the perfect shot. They looked beautiful and absolutely miserable.

Zombie mode. Everyone doing it because everyone else was doing it.

Maya looked at her phone. 11%.

Then she looked at the pool. Water shimmering like liquid diamonds in the July heat. Real. Actual. Life.

She set her phone on a lawn chair. 10%.

And jumped.

The shock of cold. The way the world went muffled and perfect. She broke the surface, gasping, grinning like an idiot.

"Finally!" her best friend Sam splashed her. "Where have you been?"

Maya wiped water from her eyes. "Out there."

She glanced back at the lawn chair. Her phone sat dark, dead, completely done. And honestly? That was fine. The real party was happening in the pool, not on the screen.