Lightning in the Chlorine

6:00 AM and I'm basically a zombie. Again. Mom shakes me awake for swim practice, but my brain's still buffering. I drag myself to the pool where the early morning light hits the water like—okay, I know this sounds basic—but like actual lightning.

Jordan's already there, looking unfairly awake. We've been swimming together since we were twelve, but lately everything feels different. Electric, even before the incident.

"You look dead," they say, flipping their goggles. "Rough night?"

"Rough life," I mutter, which is maximum cringe but whatever.

We're doing laps when Coach yells at the new kid—Marcus—to stop messing with the pool's filter cable. It's literally a sign: DO NOT TOUCH. But Marcus, being new and trying way too hard to impress everyone, doesn't listen.

Then everything happens at once. The cable snaps. Water starts flooding weirdly. The storm outside gets real, real fast. Lightning strikes nearby—KA-BOOM—and all the pool lights go out.

Panic, obviously. Everyone's screaming except Jordan, who grabs my arm in the dark. "This is actually perfect," they whisper.

"Perfect? We're literally swimming in a disaster movie."

"Exactly. Remember that zombie apocalypse plan we made freshman year?"

I do. We spent three weeks plotting survival routes through the school. It was our thing, back when we were just friends doing friend stuff.

Marcus is trying to be heroic in the dark, but Jordan pulls me toward the shallow end. "If this were a zombie apocalypse, we'd already be ahead of everyone else. We've got skills."

"Jordan, this is a flood, not zombies."

"Same energy."

Their hand finds mine in the dark. My heart does something that has nothing to do with swimming or zombies or cables or the fact that we're probably going to get in trouble for this disaster.

"You know," Jordan says quietly, "I still have that plan."

"The zombie one?"

"Yeah. I update it sometimes. Just in case."

The backup generators kick on. Lights flicker back. Everyone's okay, just wet and chaos. Marcus looks properly humiliated. Coach is screaming about liability.

But Jordan's still holding my hand, and I'm thinking that maybe being a zombie at 6 AM isn't the worst thing in the world. Not when there's lightning in the chlorine and someone who remembers your three-year-old zombie apocalypse plan.

"Want to update it after practice?" I ask.

Jordan smiles. "Obviously. We'll need to add flood protocols."

And just like that, swimming practice becomes the best part of my day.