Papaya Poolside Zombies

I felt like a literal zombie at Jordan's pool party. Three hours of sleep will do that to you — especially when those hours were interrupted by twelve existential crisis texts from Mia at 2 AM.

"You gonna swim or just brood by the snack table?" Jordan asked, gesturing to his kidney-shaped pool where everyone looked annoyingly confident in their swimwear.

"Working up to it," I lied, grabbing another slice of papaya from the fruit platter. Let them think I was being health-conscious. Really, I just didn't want to be seen in my two-piece that suddenly felt way too two-piece-y.

That's when I noticed the cat. A mangy orange tabby had appeared on the fence, staring at us like we were the most pathetic creatures it had ever witnessed. It was judging us. I felt judged.

"That cat's been out there for twenty minutes," said Tyler, who I'd had a crush on since seventh grade and who was currently not noticing my existence because Chloe from debate club was wearing a bikini that cost more than my entire wardrobe. "Think it's hungry?"

I grabbed some papaya — desperate times, desperate measures — and wandered toward the fence. The conversation about summer plans and college applications faded behind me.

"Hey there," I whispered, holding out the fruit. "You judging us too?"

The cat sniffed the papaya, looked at me with profound disappointment, and turned away.

"Yeah, same," I said, sitting cross-legged in the grass. "This party sucks anyway."

What happened next was equal parts humiliating and liberating. Chloe made some snide comment about someone's "basic" swimsuit, and instead of laughing along or shrinking away, I just... left. I started running.

Not away from something, but toward it. Past Jordan's manicured lawn, past the cookie-cutter houses, until I reached the community pool where I'd spent every childhood summer. The gate was locked (obviously), but that cat — that same damn cat — was sitting on the other side like it had been waiting for me.

I squeezed through the gap in the fence I'd used when I was twelve and secretly came here alone to swim laps because it was the only place I could actually breathe.

The cat followed me to the edge.

"You're not gonna swim, are you?" I asked, pulling off my cover-up.

It dipped one paw in the water, shook it off with fastidious disgust, and settled on my pile of clothes.

I dove in. The water was perfect. Not too cold, not too warm — just right. I swam until my arms burned, until I forgot about Chloe and Tyler and college applications and how exhausted I was supposed to be.

Floating on my back, staring at the sky turning pink-gold, I realized something: maybe being a zombie at a party where everyone's performing confidence they don't feel isn't the worst thing. Maybe the worst thing is never letting yourself be real enough to find the places — and people (and cats) — who actually see you.

The cat meowed, like, Are you done yet?

"Yeah," I said, hauling myself out. "Let's go home."

My phone buzzed. Six missed texts from Mia: WHERE DID YOU GO? TYLER ASKED ABOUT YOU.

I grinned, wringing out my hair. Some zombie days end better than others.