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Diving In

swimminghatiphone

The pool deck shimmered with heat waves, or maybe that was just my nervous sweat. I adjusted my dad's oversized trucker hat—low over my eyes, obvious disguise—checking my iPhone for the third time in thirty seconds. No text from Jordan. Of course not.

"Yo Marcus, you gonna stand there all day or actually get in the pool?" Tyler's voice carried across the deck. He was already doing cannonballs, surrounded by half the sophomore class. The swimming portion of Jordan's birthday party. Because why wouldn't the popular girl whose Instagram was literally 80% bikini pics host a pool party?

I couldn't swim. Like, at all. Not even doggy paddle. And somehow, at sixteen years old, I'd managed to hide this deeply embarrassing fact.

"Just vibing," I called back, because 'just vibing' worked for everything.

My iPhone buzzed. Jordan: "come in the water!! everyone's asking about u"

Panic clawed up my throat. I stared at the blue water, suddenly realizing the shallow end looked like the Marianas Trench. Kids were laughing, splashing, existing normally while I contemplated faking a sudden allergic reaction to chlorine.

Then I saw it—little Leo from down the street, this quiet seventh grader who'd been sitting fully clothed in the corner, wearing this ridiculous bucket hat that drowned his entire head. He met my eyes, and in that moment, I recognized the look. It was the same terror I felt.

Something shifted. I marched over to the pool's edge, ripped off my hat, and—

"Hey," I said, sitting beside Leo. "Water's too cold, right?"

His shoulders dropped three inches. "Yeah. Way too cold."

We sat there for twenty minutes while everyone else swam. I texted Jordan back: "hanging with leo, gonna keep him company." She sent back a heart emoji.

Later that night, my iPhone lit up with a DM from Leo: "thanks for sitting with me. i'm learning to swim but i'm not good yet."

I stared at those words, then typed back: "me neither. want to go to the community pool together sometime?"

Sometimes the coolest thing you can do is admit you're not cool at all.