Goldfish in the Deep End

My brain's basically a goldfish—three seconds, then *poof*, whatever I was thinking is gone. Which explains why I'm standing at the deep end of Johnson's pool party staring at my crush like they're the only person who knows how to swim properly.

"You gonna jump or just stand there looking totally sus?" Marcus yelled, doing that thing where he splashes water everywhere like he invented the concept of having fun.

I'd been running from this moment all week. The literal running—actual laps around the neighborhood because my older sister said cardio helps with anxiety, which is frankly a scam—and the figurative running, where every time Jake caught my eye in AP Bio I'd suddenly find my notebook incredibly fascinating. But now here I was, pool party, zero escape routes, and my goldfish brain had officially left the chat.

Jake swam over, threading water like it was nothing. "You okay? You look like you're calculating the physics of splash damage."

"I'm just—" My voice did that embarrassing crack thing. "I'm just vibing. Watching. From here. The shallow end of life."

He laughed. Not the mean laugh. The good one.

"Wanna learn to dive? It's not that deep."

My heart was definitely running a marathon at this point. But something about the way he said it—like he actually wanted me there, not as a joke, not as background character number four—made my goldfish brain suddenly focus.

I didn't think. I just jumped.

The water hit me like reality check—cold, shocking, weirdly amazing. And when I surfaced, sputting and definitely not graceful, Jake was still there.

"See? Not that deep."

"Not that deep," I echoed, and for once, my brain didn't drift away. I was swimming. I was actually, finally swimming.