Poolside Existential Crisis

The chlorine smell hit me before I even saw the water. Jenna's annual pool party. The social event of the summer that I'd been overthinking for three weeks straight.

"You okay?" Marcus asked, floating near the edge. He looked effortless in the water, while I was still sitting on the pool chair in my t-shirt, paralyzed by the realization that I'd forgotten to pack a swimsuit.

"Yeah. Just. Processing."

My brain was somewhere between fighting for my life and dissociating. Then I saw them—the rescued tabby cat from next door perched on the fence, watching me like I was the entertainment. Which, honestly, I was.

"Are you gonna swim or what?" called Brianna from the diving board. The girl who posted aesthetic pool photos on Instagram and probably emerged from the womb with perfect hair.

"I—"

Then my little brother Leo showed up with his friend, both carrying pet store bags. "We got goldfish!" Leo announced, like this was relevant to anything happening. "Their names are Neptune and Poseidon and they're literally the best pets ever."

The universe was testing me. It had to be.

Someone's golden retriever bounded over, tail wagging like its life depended on it, and knocked into a bowl of spinach dip that Marcus's mom had set out on the patio table. Spinach everywhere. On the concrete. On the dog's snout. On my vans.

The cat hissed and vanished. The goldfish continued to swim in their tiny plastic bag like nothing mattered. Brianna laughed. Marcus's cheeks turned pink. And I realized—we were all just trying to look like we had it together while life threw spinach dip at us.

I stood up. "You know what? Whatever."

Pulled off my t-shirt. Did a cannonball into the deep end.

The water was perfect. Everyone cheered. Marcus grinned at me, actual relief behind his eyes. And for the first time all summer, I wasn't overthinking. I was just swimming.

Sometimes the coolest thing you can do is stop trying to be cool.