Drowning in the Fake

The vitamin gummies clinked against my teeth—strawberry-flavored lies I'd been selling to sophomores for three weeks. $15 a bottle, labeled "Focus+," total placebo. My side hustle, my secret, my slow spiral into actual panic.

"Alex, you coming to swim practice?" Marcus called from the locker room doorway. He was varsity team captain, obnoxiously buff, and somehow still friends with me despite my barely making JV.

"Yeah, just gotta—finish this." I gestured vaguely at my locker, shoving the vitamin bottle deeper into my backpack. Running late. Again. The team'd be warming up without me, doing those smooth laps that made me feel like a flailing potato in water.

Coach blew her whistle as I hit the pool deck, breathless. "Late again, Chen."

"Sorry, traffic was—"

"Laps. Now."

I dove in, chlorine stinging my eyes, water pressing against my chest like all the expectations I couldn't swim away from. Make varsity. Keep grades up. Don't let anyone find out about the vitamin scam. My arms moved mechanically, counting strokes like I counted lies told.

After practice, Marcus found me sitting on the bleachers, still dripping wet.

"You good, man? You seem... off."

I almost laughed. Off? Try completely gone. But I said, "Just tired."

He sat beside me, dropping his voice. "I know about the vitamins."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"My little sister bought some. She's been taking them for a week, saying they help her focus on homework." He looked at me sideways. "Are they actually vitamins?"

The truth sat there like a rock in my throat. I could lie. Could keep running from it.

"They're candy, Marcus. Just candy."

He didn't get mad. Didn't tell Coach. Just nodded slowly, like something made sense.

"Okay. You need to stop selling them, though. Like, now."

"I know."

"And Alex?" He stood up, stretching. "If you need money, my uncle's hiring at the gym. Cleaning, mostly, but it's legit."

I watched him walk away, everything inside me feeling lighter, like I'd finally surfaced after holding my breath too long. Tomorrow I'd return everyone's money. Tomorrow I'd apply for the job. Tomorrow I'd stop running.

For the first time in weeks, I could actually breathe.