Goldfish in the Deep End

I stood at the edge of Jordan's pool, clutching my towel like a lifeline. Everyone else was already splashing around, laughing, acting like this was just another Saturday. But for me? This was basically social suicide.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called from the water, grinning.

I forced a smile. "Yeah, just warming up."

Truth was, my goldfish had died two days ago. Mr. Bubbles—creative, I know—and somehow that stupid fish's death had hit me harder than I expected. Like, I'd had him since fourth grade, and now he was just... gone. Flush. And now I was supposed to be swimming at Jordan Cooper's party, pretending my entire world hadn't tilted slightly off its axis.

I'd barely even learned to swim properly last summer. Watching everyone else glide through the water like dolphins made my chest tight.

Jordan's wet dog, some chaotic golden retriever mix, came barreling out of nowhere and shook itself off right next to me. I got absolutely splashed.

"Rocky, NO!" Jordan yelled, scrambling out of the pool. Water dripped everywhere as they grabbed the dog's collar. "I'm so sorry, that's literally so embarrassing."

"It's fine," I said, wiping dog water from my arms. "Honestly, I needed an excuse not to jump in yet."

Jordan looked at me, really looked at me, and something shifted. "You don't have to swim if you don't want to. No pressure."

"No, I want to," I said, surprising myself. "I'm just... I'm not great at it. And my goldfish just died, which sounds dumb, but I'm kinda sad about it, and now I have to be at this party pretending I'm fine."

The words tumbled out before I could stop them. Great. Now I was oversharing to the most popular person in our grade.

But Jordan just nodded slowly. "My grandpa died last month. Sometimes everything just feels like too much, you know?"

I nodded. I did know.

"We could just sit with our feet in," Jordan said. "Rocky can keep us company."

So we did. Just sat there, legs in the cool water, while the dog lay between us like a fuzzy barrier against the rest of the party. And for the first time all day, I could actually breathe.

"Wanna try the shallow end later?" Jordan asked. "I can teach you some tricks. No pressure."

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Somewhere between Mr. Bubbles, the deep end, and a wet dog named Rocky, I'd found something better than swimming. I'd found someone who got it. And that felt like maybe, just maybe, everything was going to be okay.