Pool Party Physics

The invitation said "pool party," but my brain heard "social suicide." Yet here I was, standing by the deep end in my swim trunks, clutching a plastic bag like my life depended on it.

Inside, my carnival prize—a goldfish I'd named Chandler—swam in frantic circles. I'd won him an hour ago, and now I was stuck babysitting instead of actually, you know, socializing.

"Hey, fish boy."

I turned to find Jake, the resident jock who'd been acting like a total jerk since freshman year. He stood way too close, dripping pool **water** all over my shoes. "Nice pet. Does he sleep in a bowl or your pocket?"

His friends laughed. I hated how they moved in a pack—always together, always loud, always making everyone else feel small.

"Leave him alone," said Maya, appearing beside me. She'd been unusually quiet all semester, ever since her parents split, and I'd barely talked to her since middle school. But right now, she was the only person not treating me like I was contagious.

Jake rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Just don't let him go in the pool. We don't need your **goldfish** ruining the pH balance."

They walked off, still laughing. I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

"Sorry about Jake," Maya said. "He's been extra unbearable lately."

"It's whatever." I stared at Chandler, who was now floating peacefully near the bag's surface. "I shouldn't have come. I'm terrible at these things."

"Me too." Maya hesitated. "I've been walking around like a **zombie** all day. Haven't slept since... you know."

I nodded. Everyone knew about her parents. It had been the talk of the school for weeks.

"You want to get out of here?" she asked suddenly. "There's a creek behind the property. Nobody goes there."

I looked back at the party—Jake doing cannonballs, the popular crowd taking selfies, everyone performing like they were on a stage. Then I looked at Maya, who wasn't performing anything. Just being.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, let's go."

We walked through the backyard gate, leaving the noise behind. The sun was setting, painting everything gold. For the first time all day, I could actually breathe.

"So," Maya said, nodding at my bag. "What's Chandler's story?"

"He's a survivor," I said. "Kind of like us."

She laughed, and it was the most genuine thing I'd heard all night.

"Yeah," she said. "Exactly like us."