Poolside Apocalypse

The backyard humidity hit me like a wall. I stood at the edge of Maddie's above-ground pool, clutching my towel like a security blanket, while half the sophomore class splashed around inside.

"You coming in or what?" Tyler yelled. He was that breed of annoying where everything was a challenge. My baseball cap from last season's-varsity-washout floated on the water's surface like a tiny dead boat.

"Give me a sec," I mumbled. My first pool party since moving to this town, and I'd already managed to

a) lose my favorite hat

b) stand awkwardly by myself for twenty minutes

c) accidentally make eye contact with Maddie's dog—a neurotic golden retriever named Cooper—who was currently losing his mind over a

plastic water bottle.

"Cooper, stop!" Maddie's younger sister chased him. The dog bolted, zigzagging through people's legs like a furry lightning bolt, and CRASH.

He knocked over the snack table. Doritos. Pretzels. A bowl of fruit salad that splattered dramatically across the patio.

And that's when I saw it.

Cooper had something in his mouth. Not a water bottle. Not a pretzel.

It was a cat.

A very confused, very wet, very angry calico that belonged to the neighbors next door. It hissed, Cooper whimpered, and suddenly I wasn't the awkward new kid anymore—I was the only one close enough to act.

I dropped my towel and launched myself into the water, clothes and all.

The cat scrabbled up the inflatable unicorn. Cooper circled, barking his head off. Maddie's dad lumbered over in a zombie daze, looking like he'd been asleep in a lounge chair since the Bush administration.

"What in the—"

"Your dog's got a cat!" I shouted, grabbing the calico before it could claw its way onto Maddie's head.

The cat purred in my arms like a tiny, furry engine. Cooper sat, tail thumping. Everyone stared.

And then Tyler started laughing. "Dude. You just went full navy seal for a cat."

Someone else: "That was actually pretty sick."

Maddie's sister: "Cooper, you're such a drama queen."

I stood there, soaking wet, holding a purring enemy combatant, while something shifted. The invisible wall between me and everyone else—it wasn't gone, exactly. But there was a door in it now.

"Sorry about your fruit salad," I said to Maddie.

She grinned. "Eh. It was gross anyway. You want a towel?"

"Nah." I adjusted my dripping baseball cap. "I'm good."

"You sure? You look like a—"

"Don't say it."

"—zombie." She smiled. "A wet, cat-saving zombie."

"Close enough."