Dead in the Water

I walked into Taylor's pool party feeling like a total zombie. Three hours of sleep the night before will do that to you, plus the existential dread of trying to look chill in front of the popular crowd. Everyone was already sprawled across lounge chairs, faces illuminated by their iPhone screens like digital campfires. Nobody even looked up.

"Hey, Maya!" Taylor called from the pool, doing that thing where she acts like we've been best friends since kindergarten even though we've spoken maybe three times total. "Come in!"

I clutched my phone like a lifeline. The plan had been to casually sit by the pool, look mysterious and unavailable, maybe snapchat some artsy shots of my feet against the water. I'd even popped an extra vitamin that morning because my mom swore it helped with "radiance"—whatever that meant.

Taylor's golden retriever, Buster, had different plans.

I was caught off guard when the massive dog suddenly barreled toward me, knocking my bag out of my hands. My phone went flying, landing dangerously close to the pool's edge.

"No, no, no!" I yelped, diving for it like my social life depended on that screen staying intact.

Buster thought this was the best game ever. He started licking my face, his tail wagging like crazy. I couldn't help it—I started laughing. Real laughter, not the fake Instagram-story kind.

Taylor and her friends stared. The zombie army of phone-obsessed teens actually looked up.

"Sorry about Buster," Taylor said, suddenly sounding like a real person instead of a curated social media personality. "He's literally always hungry."

She helped me up from the pool deck, her perfectly manicured nails brushing against mine. For a second, the popular girl facade cracked.

"I didn't know anyone else was addicted to their phone like that," she said, gesturing to my rescued device. "I thought I was the only one."

"No way," I said, feeling something shift. "You too?"

We stood there by the pool, dripping wet and covered in dog slobber, while her friends went back to their phones. But for the first time all afternoon, neither of us reached for ours.

"So," Taylor said, grinning, "wanna see if Buster wants to play fetch? He's terrible at it but it's hilarious."

I looked at the zombie-like teens, their faces glowing in the afternoon sun. Then I looked at Taylor, really looked at her, and smiled.

"Absolutely."

The pool party wasn't so dead after all.