Dead in the Water

June's been surviving on three hours of sleep and an obscene amount of iced coffee, feeling like a straight-up zombie as she drags herself to Tyler's pool party. The humidity's already messing up her curls when she spots Cassia—aka the absolute fox of sophomore year—sprawled on a lounge chair looking effortless in a way that makes June's stomach do something complicated.

Then she sees him. Brandon. The resident bully of Lincoln High, already holding court with his loud voice and toxic energy. He's blocking the pool ladder, bragging about some nonexistent varsity achievement that everyone knows is complete bull. June considers grabbing her towel and bailing, but then Cassia catches her eye and waves, and suddenly she's committed.

She slides into the cool water, hoping the chlorine will wash away her exhaustion. The pool becomes her sanctuary. She glides through the water, feeling like she's finally escaping the zombie-like state she's been in all week. Underneath the surface, the world is muffled and peaceful—no social pressures, no loud voices, just her own rhythmic breathing.

When she surfaces, Cassia's there, treading water nearby with a genuine smile that somehow doesn't feel performational. They end up talking for an hour, their legs dangling in the deep end, while Brandon continues his pathetic performance across the pool. They talk about everything and nothing—music, the weird pressure of being sixteen, how they're both lowkey burned out on the whole high school performance.

"I feel like I'm constantly swimming upstream," Cassia admits, quiet like she's sharing a secret. "Like, everyone expects me to be this confident popular girl, but honestly? Most days I'm just guessing."

June's heart does this soft, surprising thing. Because she gets it. She totally gets it.

For the first time all summer, June doesn't feel like a zombie. She's just a girl talking to another girl who actually sees her, the water gentle around them, everything else fading into background noise. Brandon's still being a bull somewhere, but somehow it matters less. She's not dead in the water anymore—she's just swimming, finally, toward something real.