Poolside Apocalypse

The chlorine stung my eyes as I positioned myself strategically near the snack table, far enough from the water's edge to avoid splash damage but close enough to look like I was participating. Jenna's pool party raged around me—basewhere music thumping against the sliding glass doors, people cannonballing into the deep end, and somewhere, a dog barking excitedly at all the commotion.

I was operating on two hours of sleep, maximum, which explained why I felt like a zombie shuffling through what was supposed to be the social event of the summer. My eyeliner had probably migrated somewhere halfway down my face by now, and my social battery had died around the time someone's grandma started asking about college plans.

"Marcus! You made it!" Jenna materialized out of nowhere, wearing a flamingo inflatable that had seen better decades. "Get in the water! Everyone's swimming!"

"Maybe later," I lied, clutching my solo cup like it contained the antidote to awkwardness.

The truth was, I couldn't stop thinking about Steve—my goldfish from third grade who'd lived way longer than any goldfish should. He'd finally died last week, and somehow standing at this pool party surrounded by people who looked like they were having the time of their lives made me disproportionately sad about a fish I'd barely paid attention to in years.

"Hey."

I jumped. Maya stood there, pool water dripping from her hair onto the concrete deck. She was wearing this black bikini with little skulls on it and she looked impossibly cool and impossibly out of my league.

"You look like you're contemplating the void," she said, which was alarming accurate.

"Just thinking about my goldfish," I admitted, because apparently being exhausted made me weirdly honest.

Maya laughed. Not mean-laughed, but genuinely laughed, throwing her head back. "Same. My dog ate my hamster when I was seven and I still think about it at random pool parties."

And just like that, the zombie fog lifted slightly. We spent the rest of the party sitting on the edge of the shallow end, feet dangling in the water, bonding over dead pets and the existential terror of being seventeen while Jenna's chocolate lab kept trying to steal people's towels.

Maybe pool parties weren't so bad. Maybe being a zombie was temporary. And maybe, just maybe, I'd actually go swimming next time.