Deep Water, Big Heart

The hat was everything. My dad's old Bulls cap, faded to near-pink, sweat-stained like he'd worn it through every Chicago summer before he left. Mom wanted to toss it. I wore it everywhere, including—and this was the problem—into the lake at Camp Pinecrest.

"You're not going in there with that," Marcus said, already shirtless, already perfect. His friend group laughed. They were the kind of guys who called everyone 'bro' and meant it.

"Watch me." I adjusted the cap's brim and waded in.

The lake was cold, murky, full of shadows that shouldn't exist at three feet deep. I'd been terrified of deep water since I was six and watched Jaws at my cousin's birthday party. Marcus knew this. Everyone knew. That's why they'd nominated me for the swim challenge—because I'd fail, and failing was funny.

But this summer was different. I was fifteen, tired of being the scared kid, tired of flinching every time someone slammed a locker. The bull had to be taken by the horns, or whatever.

I was swimming—actually swimming, past the dock, where the bottom dropped away—when the sky went purple. Lightning cracked across the horizon like God's camera flash.

"Everyone out!" Counselor Jen shouted from the shore.

I treaded water, heart hammering. The deep water had me now. Something brushed my leg and I almost screamed, but then I saw it—a real bear, a juvenile black bear, swimming parallel to me, calm as anything, like this was totally normal.

We locked eyes. The bear kept swimming. And suddenly I realized: if a bear could do this, if this lumbering fuzz-ball could navigate deep water without freaking out, maybe I could too.

I swam to shore feeling light, terrified and electric all at once. Marcus and his friends were already out, shivering. They'd seen the bear too. Nobody laughed when I emerged, cap somehow still on my head, dripping lake water onto my shirt.

"Dude," Marcus said, actually impressed. "You stayed out there? That bear was huge."

"It wasn't that huge," I said, adjusting my Bulls cap. "And honestly? It was just swimming."

That night, lightning stormed across the sky while I lay in my bunk. I wasn't scared of the dark anymore. I wasn't scared of much, really. The hat stayed on my head. Tomorrow, I'd go back in the water. Maybe even first.