Dead Dog Paddle at the Deep End

I felt like a **zombie**. Three hours of sleep thanks to that history final, and now here I was at Chloe's end-of-year pool party, clutching my **iPhone** like it was a flotation device. The notification light blinked—maybe someone had texted me. Anyone.

"Yo, Marcus! Get in here!" Jake shouted from the deep end, splashing water everywhere. He was at the top of the social **pyramid**—varsity basketball, confident grin, probably didn't overthink whether his trunks were too last season. I was somewhere near the foundation, possibly in the basement.

I set my phone on a towel. No lifeline. Just me and the water.

**Swimming** had never been my thing. I doggy-paddled through middle school PE while everyone else seemed born knowing breaststroke. But junior year was supposed to be different, right? New me, confident me, someone who actually cannonballed instead of dipping one toe in.

I jumped.

The water swallowed me. Cool and sudden and everywhere. For a second, I didn't know which way was up. Then I broke the surface, gasping, wiping chlorine from my eyes.

"There he is!" Jake hollered. "About time!"

Something shifted. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation making my brain loose, or maybe I just stopped caring. I splashed back. I laughed when someone dunked me. I actually swam.

Later, dripping and shivering, I checked my phone. Two missed texts from Mom asking if I needed a ride. No emergency social dramas. No life-changing notifications.

I smiled, typing back that I'd catch a ride with Jake.

The **pyramid** didn't feel so steep anymore. Or maybe I'd just learned to climb.

My **iPhone** buzzed again. A group chat invite: "Pool Squad 4eva"

I clicked join. Being a **zombie** wasn't so bad if you found your herd.