Dead Inside, Alive Outside

Working the summer as a lifeguard at the Oak Creek pool was supposed to be chill—just tanning, blasting my playlist through questionable headphones, and occasionally shouting "WALK PLEASE" at kids who definitely heard you the first three times. But honestly? The combo of 6 AM shifts, minimum wage, and basically living in chlorinated water had me feeling like a straight-up zombie. My brain was mush, my skin was permanently pruned, and don't even get me started on what chlorine does to hair. My curl pattern was officially deceased.

Trevor from the swim team had been flirting with me all July, but I was too dead inside to properly notice. Or maybe I noticed but was too terrified to do anything about it, because what if I read it wrong and things got weird? The social calculus of summer romance was exhausting, and I was already running on fumes.

Then came the thunderstorm last Friday—the kind where the sky turns that creepy greenish color and the air feels electric before you even see the first flash. The pool had just cleared out, everyone grabbing their towels and sprinting to their cars like they'd personally offended the weather gods. But Trevor lingered by the gate, giving me that look that made my stomach do that annoying fluttery thing that definitely meant I was catching feelings.

"Want to hang out?" he asked, like it was no big deal. "My parents aren't home, and I have Mario Kart."

Before I could overthink it into oblivion (which, let's be real, was my signature move), a bolt of lightning struck the transformer across the street. CRACK. The whole neighborhood went dark. And there I was, standing with this gorgeous boy in the middle of a total blackout, rain pouring down, thunder rumbling like the sky was throwing a tantrum, and for the first time all summer? I didn't feel dead anymore. I felt absolutely, terrifyingly awake.

"Race you to the covered bench," I said, and took off running into the rain, feeling more alive than I had in months.