Pool Party Privacy Violation

I'm basically a goldfish at this party — three-second memory span, constantly forgetting why I even came, swimming in circles around the same groups of people who don't notice me exists. The backyard's packed with Tyler's "crew" (his word, not mine, cringe), everyone dripping wet and laughing too loud at jokes that aren't even funny.

I'm perched on the patio edge, phone in hand, low-key spying on Mia across the pool. She's everything I'm not: confident, effortlessly gorgeous, actually in the water instead of hovering awkwardly on the sidelines like some kid's mom who drove them here. When she catches me looking, my face heats up like I've been caught doing something way worse than just being creepy.

"You coming in or what?" Jake yells, splashing water my way. "It's literally ninety degrees out here."

"Maybe later," I mumble, but later never happens because that's who I am — the person who watches from the edge.

Then the sky opens up. Lightning cracks through the clouds like someone took a picture of the moment I finally realize everyone's waiting on me. The rain starts coming down sideways, and suddenly everyone's scrambling out of the pool, screaming like this is some movie scene. Mia grabs my arm to pull me under the patio overhang, and for like three seconds, we're pressed together, both soaked, both breathing hard.

"You okay?" she asks, and she's actually looking at me. Not through me, not past me.

"Yeah," I say, and something shifts. Maybe it's the adrenaline, maybe it's the way the storm turned everything upside down, but I'm done being the person on the edge.

I pull her back into the rain. We end up swimming in the crazy weather, lightning flashing overhead while everyone else is hiding under umbrellas. It's reckless and stupid and probably exactly what I needed. Turns out the only person who made me a goldfish was me, and I'm done with that life.