Ghosting at the Pool Party

The iphone in my back pocket felt like a ticking time bomb. Tyler's annual summer bash. The kind of party that lived on Snapchat stories for weeks afterward.

I adjusted my bucket hat—low over my eyes, armor against the world. Maya'd picked it out for me at thrift store, said it gave me main character energy. Whatever that meant.

"You're not filming?" asked Liam, chest puffed out like he owned the place. His phone captured everything, every laugh, every splash, every moment curated for an audience that wouldn't care by Monday.

"Nah," I said, leaning back against the palm tree. "Just vibing."

The pool stretched blue and inviting, but something kept me grounded. Maybe it was the goldfish swimming circles in the massive bowl on the patio table—won at the carnival by some kid who'd already abandoned it for the snacks. The little guy just kept swimming, oblivious to everyone watching him like he was entertainment.

Felt familiar.

Then came the splash. Not the fun kind. Tyler's little sister, Avery, shoved some sophomore into the water. Phone and all.

Chaos erupted. Everyone whipped out their iphones like they were documenting history. But nobody moved to help.

Except me.

I didn't think. Just kicked off my slides and dove in, fully clothed, hat floating behind me like a tiny boat. The water shocked my skin, chlorine burning my eyes as I grabbed the guy—what was his name? Jason?—and hauled him toward the edge.

By the time we surfaced, everyone had their phones trained on us.

"Bro," Jason sputtered, shaking water from his hair. "You didn't have to—"

"Your phone, genius."

He patted his pocket and went pale.

The footage went viral. Not because of the rescue, but because I'd grabbed my hat before diving in. Priorities, apparently.

Later, Tyler found me watching the goldfish again.

"You're weird, bro," he said, but it sounded like a compliment. "Like, actually weird. Not aesthetic weird."

"I'll take it."

"You saved Jason's phone. That thing's worth more than my car."

I shrugged. "Seemed like the move."

"Yeah." He paused. "Hey, you trying to be friends? Like, for real?"

I looked at the goldfish, still doing its endless laps, oblivious to everything beyond its glass walls. I'd spent years performing for an audience that didn't matter, curating moments instead of living them.

"Yeah," I said. "For real."

He tossed me a soda.

"Cool."

The phone stayed in my pocket the rest of the night. Some moments didn't need an audience.