Goldfish in the Deep End

The orange swim trunks glowed like a radioactive traffic cone against the chain-link fence. Leo tugged at the waistband, suddenly certain that every single person at Lakeside Pool was staring at his mom's tragic Marshalls purchase.

"You coming in or what?" Brandon yelled from the diving board. The entire sophomore class watched. Including Maya. Who was wearing this impossibly cute black one-piece and looking like she belonged in a music video, not standing ten feet away from Leo's flaming-orange shame.

"Yeah! Just warming up!" Leo called back, his voice cracking. Smooth. Real smooth.

The problem wasn't just the trunks. The problem was that Leo couldn't actually swim. Not properly. He could do a panicked doggy paddle and sort of not drown, but actual swimming? With breathing and form and not looking like a distressed bear clawing through honey? Nope.

He'd managed to avoid pool parties all freshman year. But now it was July, humidity was melting everything, and suddenly everyone lived at Lakeside. His social life was becoming a real thing, and he couldn't keep dodging the main hangout spot without becoming "that weird kid who never swims."

"Cannonball!" someone screamed.

Leo jumped. The water hit him like ice. He went under, surfaced spluttering, and immediately his limbs forgot how to human. He flailed, swallowed chlorinated water, and basically reenacted every middle school nightmare in real time.

A hand grabbed his arm. Maya.

"You okay?" she asked, actually concerned, not laughing.

"Fine! Just... practicing my bear impression."

She laughed. A real one. "You're terrible at it."

"I know."

They treaded water in silence for a moment. Leo's trunks were still orange. His hair was definitely a disaster. But Maya wasn't laughing at him.

"My brother has this goldfish," she said suddenly. "Won it at a carnival last summer. Thing's supposed to live, like, six months. It's been a year and it won't die. It just keeps swimming in this tiny bowl, doing its fish thing, completely oblivious to how ridiculous it is."

Leo blinked. "Is that... is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"Maybe?" She grinned, and something in his chest did this embarrassing flip thing. "Or maybe I'm just saying we're all just swimming around in our own little bowls, pretending we know what we're doing."

"That's surprisingly deep for pool conversation."

"I have layers, Leo."

By the end of summer, the orange trunks were still terrible. He'd learned to actually swim, mostly. And he and Maya spent hours floating in the deep end, talking about everything and nothing, two goldfish in a chlorinated bowl, figuring out how to be people together.