Dead Tired & Alive

I was operating on pure autopilot, basically a zombie after pulling an all-nighter to finish my AP History paper. Mom had thrust a bottle of gummy vitamins at me that morning, like chewable neon bears could fix three hours of sleep.

"You look dead," Jayla said, falling into step beside me as we speed-walked toward the community center. "Like, actually deceased."

"Thanks," I managed. "Running on fumes and desperation."

The outdoor pool shimmered ahead, chlorine-blue under the July sun. Today was the certification test for lifeguarding — the final hurdle between me and a summer job that would actually pay money. Money for concert tickets. Money for the vintage leather jacket I'd been eyeing forever.

Mr. Henderson, the pool manager, stood beside a creepy stone sphinx statue some donor had gifted the center years ago. The thing's wings were chipped, and its painted eyes followed you everywhere.

"Alright, candidates," Henderson barked. "Your final test starts now. Two-lap rescue drill. GO."

My body moved on instinct — months of early morning practices, freezing winter mornings in the indoor pool, blisters and sore muscles and "just one more lap" echoing through my brain. I hit the water, cool shock waking up every nerve.

Two laps in, drag the rescue dummy to the edge. My arms burned. Sleep-deprived brain screamed at me to quit. But then I saw Jayla at the pool's edge, grinning and giving me a thumbs-up.

I found something extra — not from the vitamins or the energy drinks or any of it. Just pure momentum. Pure stubbornness.

Hauled the dummy onto the deck. Gasping.

"Not bad, zombie," Jayla said later, as we sat on the pool's edge, legs dangling in the water. "You're actually gonna live."

I laughed, something loosening in my chest. "Barely."

"Hey," she said, pulling a packet of gummy vitamins from her bag. "Want one? Cherry flavor. For, like, medicinal purposes."

I took one. It didn't fix everything. But it was a start.