Dead in the Water

The alarm went off at 4:45 AM and honestly? I felt like a zombie. Not the cool, Netflix kind. The gross, I-haven't-slept-enough, why-am-I-awake kind.

My sister Maya was already up, main character energy at full volume as she blasted her hype playlist. Meanwhile, I was dragging myself to swim practice like my life depended on it. Spoiler: it didn't.

"You look dead," Maya said, scrolling through TikTok.

"Thanks, helpful commentary."

The pool was already packed when I got there. Jamie—of course Jamie was there early, because Jamie's been clocking in at zero dark thirty since sophomore year—gave me that sympathetic head nod. The universal sign language for "we're both dying inside but honor roll demands tribute."

Coach blew the whistle. "Alright zombies, let's see what you've got."

I dove in.

The water hit me like reality check—cold, shocking, absolutely unforgiving. And something shifted. Underwater, everything made sense again. No AP Calculus anxiety, no college application existential dread, no feeling like I was lowkey failing at being sixteen.

Just me, the water, and the rhythm of my own breath.

My arms moved. My legs kicked. I wasn't thinking about how everyone else seemed to have their life together while I was out here barely treading water. I was just... swimming.

When I finally surfaced, Jamie was leaning against the pool edge, looking annoyingly perfect.

"You good? You looked like you were actually enjoying yourself for once."

"Shut up."

They laughed. "That's a yes."

I floated on my back, staring up at the ceiling lights blurring through the water. For the first time in months, my brain wasn't running through a mental checklist of everything I was screwing up. I wasn't zombie-walking through my own life anymore.

Maybe I'd figure it out. Maybe I wouldn't. But at least for this morning, in this water, I was actually awake.