Goldfish in the Deep End

The pool party at Jessica's house was exactly where I didn't want to be Friday night. But my mom had already dropped me off with her classic "you need to get out of your comfort zone" speech, so here I was, standing awkwardly by the snacks table while everyone else was either already swimming or pretending they weren't checking each other out.

That's when I saw the goldfish bowl on the counter. One fish, just floating there like it understood my entire existence. I named him Kevin. Kevin the goldfish, living his best life in a glass prison while I stood in a social prison of my own making.

"You gonna swim or just supervise?" It was Tyler, the absolute bull of our grade, all confidence and testosterone and zero chill. We'd been neighbors since kindergarten but had somehow never managed to be actual friends.

"I'm good," I said, suddenly fascinated by a chip bag.

Tyler rolled his eyes. "Come on. Everyone's already in. You're being weird."

"Maybe I'm just building anticipation," I tried, which came out lamer than intended.

He laughed and suddenly I was being hoisted over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, and before I could process what was happening, I was airborne and then underwater. The shock of cold hit me like reality check, and when I broke the surface, sputtering and wiping chlorine from my eyes, everyone was watching.

And I started laughing. Because what else could I do? Tyler was grinning like he'd just won something, and suddenly I was swimming, actually swimming, dodging pool noodles and splashing water at people I'd spent years avoiding.

Later, soaked and exhausted on the deck chairs, someone's phone started blasting music through a sketchy aux cable, and we sat there passing around chips while someone told a story about getting caught TPing the principal's house. I looked over at Kevin the goldfish, still doing his thing, and felt stupid for weeks of overthinking.

Sometimes you just gotta jump in the deep end. Even when you're terrified. Especially then.