Dead Inside, Alive Outside

The gummy vitamin sat on my tongue like a lie I was telling myself. Vitamin D for mood support, the bottle promised. More like vitamin cope.

"You're not gonna take it?" Maya asked, already bouncing on her heels. She'd been ready for Tyler's pool party for, like, three hours.

"I already took one this morning," I lied, swallowing it dry anyway because why not. Maybe if I took enough, I'd glow with social confidence. Or maybe I'd just get rickets and an excuse to stay home.

The walk to Tyler's felt like a zombie movie. Not the cool kind with hand-to-hand combat and dramatic slow-mo. The boring kind where I shuffled through suburban streets, brain half-eaten by overthinking, limbs heavy with the weight of existing.

Brooke was gonna be there. Brooke who sat behind me in bio and had that laugh that made my stomach do unnatural gymnastics. Brooke who I'd said approximately four sentences to since August. And today I was supposed to act normal in swim trunks.

"You good?" Maya nudged me as we turned onto Tyler's street.

"Just vibing," I said, which was teenage code for 'I am actively dying inside.'

The pool shimmered like I'd imagined seventh period would feel if I ever paid attention. People were already there, bodies splashing, music thumping, someone's older brother mixing drinks with way too much lime. And there she was — Brooke, sitting on the edge in this sunflower bikini, feet in the water, looking like she belonged in a magazine or at least a better timeline than mine.

Maya abandoned me instantly. "I'm gonna jump!"

Left to my own devices, I did what any socially competent person would do: stood next to the snack table and pretended to be deeply fascinated by a bag of chips.

"You gonna swim or just judge everyone's form?"

I turned. Brooke. Up close. Damp hair sticking to her neck. Smelling like coconut and actually talking to me.

"Oh, I'm definitely judging," I heard myself say, and where did that come from? "That cannonball was a solid three out of ten."

She laughed. The real one.

"Show me better then."

And I didn't overthink it for once. Just jumped. The water hit me like a reset button, washing away the zombie fog, the gummy vitamin lies, the weird performative anxiety I'd been carrying around like extra weight.

Surfacing, I found her watching me.

"Five out of ten," she called. "But you get points for the entry."

I floated there, feeling something unfamiliar bubbling up. Not courage exactly. Not confidence either. Just — being there. Alive. Present.

"Watch this," I said, and I actually meant it.

Maybe vitamin gummies couldn't fix everything. But neither could staying on the sidelines. Sometimes you just had to jump in the pool and see if you sank or swam.

Turns out, I kind of swam.