Orange at Midnight

The flashlight beam cut through darkness like I was some kind of spy, which honestly felt ridiculous because I was just creeping through my own backyard at 2 AM. But Marcus had been acting weird all week—ducking my texts, blowing off our usual Friday video game marathon, straight-up ghosting me. So when I'd seen his light flicker on down by the old community pool, I'd grabbed my shoes and gone running.

I found him sitting poolside, legs dangling in the water, fully clothed.

"Bro?" I called out, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. "You good?"

Marcus stared at me like I'd grown a second head. Then he sighed, that deep exhausted sound that made him sound forty instead of fifteen. "I'm trying to learn how to swim."

I blinked. "What?"

"The swim team. Tryouts are Monday." He pulled his knees up, rested his forehead on them. "Everyone expects me to make varsity because my dad was some swim god in high school, but I literally cannot swim. Like, at all."

The silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. This was Marcus, who'd given me his lunch when I forgot mine on the first day of seventh grade. Marcus, who I'd taught to ride a bike when we were eight because his parents were too busy. Marcus, my actual ride-or-die friend, who hadn't trusted me enough to tell me he was struggling.

"Why didn't you say anything?" I said, and it came out harder than I meant.

"Because it's embarrassing, Leo!" His voice cracked. "You're gonna make varsity track without even trying, and I can barely float across this stupid pool without panicking."

I sat down next to him, not caring that my jeans were getting soaked. The chlorine smell was sharp in my nose. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the clementine I'd grabbed on my way out—my orange midnight snack, which suddenly felt stupid and small. But I peeled it anyway, the citrus scent cutting through the chemicals, and handed him half.

"I suck at math," I said. "Like, failing sucks."

Marcus looked at me, then at the orange slice in his hand. "Since when?"

"Since always. I haven't told anyone because I didn't want people to think I'm dumb. But I have a tutor now. It's helping."

He ate the orange. Slowly, like he was processing everything. "You're not dumb."

"And you're not a failure because you can't swim yet." I splashed water at him. "I'll help you. We've got three days. I basically lived in a pool last summer with my cousins. We can do this."

Marcus wiped orange juice from his chin, and for the first time all week, he actually smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah, bro. Now get in the water before I change my mind."

The pool lights flickered on unexpectedly—some automatic timer—and suddenly we were just two guys at 2 AM, about to face something scary together. The water looked different now. Less like an enemy, more like a challenge we could handle.