Lifeguard Blues

The first day of my summer job as a lifeguard at the Pine Ridge Community Pool, I already wanted to quit.

"Hey, new guy," Marcus called from the lifeguard chair, sunglasses reflecting my awkward stance. "You gonna stand there all day or actually, like, do something?"

My face burned. I'd gotten the job through my mom's friend — total nepotism, which the other lifeguards definitely knew. I was fifteen, barely passed the certification, and still rocked braces that glinted in the sun.

The only thing keeping me sane was Mr. Pickles, my ancient Golden Retriever who waited faithfully by the pool fence every shift. My dad had dropped him off on his way to work, promising to pick us up later.

"Your dog's gonna pee on someone's leg," Sophie warned, but she was smiling. She was seventeen, had this effortless vibe that made everything look easy, including the way her flip-flops slapped against the concrete.

"He's a good boy," I defended, scratching behind Mr. Pickles's ears.

Then disaster struck. Some kid cannonballed into the deep end, and the automatic pool cover started closing — the safety cable had frayed from age and now activated randomly. I froze. Marcus and Sophie were on break.

The kid was trapped underwater as the cover slid shut.

I didn't think. I just dove.

Dragging that kid through the closing cover took every ounce of strength. When we finally broke the surface, gasping, the other lifeguards rushed over. The kid was fine, just shaken.

But as I hauled myself out of the pool, soaked and shaking, something fell from my backpack onto the wet concrete. My childhood teddy bear — stupid, ratty, with a missing eye. I'd secretly brought it for courage, like a total loser.

Sophie picked it up.

"Is that... Theodore?" she asked seriously.

I wanted to die.

"My cousin has the same one," Marcus said, grinning. "She brings it to competitions. For good luck."

"No way," Sophie laughed. "That's adorable."

My face burned, but not from embarrassment this time.

"Yeah," I managed, squeezing water from my hair. "His name's Barnaby. He's my emotional support animal."

Mr. Pickles chose that moment to stick his head through the fence and bark approvingly.

"Solid," Sophie said, tossing Barnaby back to me. "You're alright, kid."

Maybe this summer wouldn't be so terrible after all.