Dog Paddle & Dead Wifi

The pool shimmered like a giant blue invitation, and I was officially the only fifteen-year-old in America who couldn't accept it.

"You coming in?" Jordan asked, flicking water at me from the edge. Their swimsuit was coordinated and confident. Mine was three years old and I'd worn a t-shirt over it until someone pointed out that was worse than just owning my awkwardness.

"Yeah, just gotta... check something." I pointed vaguely toward the house, knowing damn well I'd hidden behind the same excuse all summer.

The problem wasn't that I couldn't swim. The problem was that I could barely dog paddle, and Jordan's friend group had been doing legit laps since they were five. Social suicide by mid-July.

Then Buster, the golden retriever I was dog-sitting to earn concert ticket money, found the only exposed cable in the entire backyard. Maybe I'd get lucky and the whole neighborhood's internet would go down, forcing everyone to actually talk to each other instead of documenting who did what at whose party.

"Buster, NO-"

Too late. Crunch.

"Was that the cable?" Jordan asked, grinning like they knew exactly what kind of summer I was having.

"Possibly."

"Wanna help me fix it? My dad's in IT, I've done this like twenty times."

So there we were - me holding cables, Jordan splicing wires, Buster looking guilty but unrepentant. Their hands brushed mine and I forgot to be embarrassed about almost everything.

"So," Jordan said, without looking up. "You know I failed swim lessons three times, right?"

"WHAT."

"Yeah. My parents finally just hired a private instructor. That's how I learned."

"But you're like-"

"Good at hiding it? Yeah. That's the whole trick. Just fake it till you make it. Works for everything. Boys, swimming, life in general."

Jordan's phone lit up with a text. "Pool party at Brianna's tomorrow. You should come. We can... practice not swimming together."

"Like, structured non-swimming?"

"Exactly. We'll be the ones sitting on the edge looking mysterious and unbothered. Everyone will think we're too cool for pools, not terrified of looking stupid."

I looked at the chewed cable, then at Jordan, then at Buster who was now attempting to eat a garden gnome.

"Deal."

The water was still terrifying, but suddenly it didn't matter as much. I'd figure it out eventually. For now, I had cable repair experience, a new co-conspirator, and Buster to thank for my first actual conversation with Jordan.

Sometimes the best things happen when your plans fall apart. Or when your dog eats the internet.