Poolside Panic

The pool glowed that perfect artificial blue that only exists in Instagram posts and expensive suburbs. I stood at the edge, clutching my solo cup like it was a lifeline, while everyone else seemed to know exactly when to jump in, when to laugh, when to tilt their head just so.

That was the thing about Jessica's parties — they always had this unspoken choreography I'd never memorized.

"Hey! You coming in?"

Tyler. Of course Tyler. The one person I'd been actively avoiding since the incident with his golden retriever last year. The one where I'd been housesitting and somehow let the dog escape, and we'd both ended up running through three backyards in our pajamas at 2 AM.

I still cringed thinking about it.

"Yeah, just," I waved vaguely, "you know."

Looking down, my palms were sweating — the universal sign of social anxiety. Great.

Jessica's brother Jeremy stumbled out of the house, three drinks past sober, carrying a goldfish in a plastic bag like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Watch this!" Jeremy shouted, though it was unclear what exactly we were supposed to be watching. The goldfish swam lazily, completely unaware it was about to become a party trick.

He moved toward the pool edge, and I practically sprinted across the yard. "No, Jeremy, absolutely not."

"What? It's just a fish," he protested. "It needs to experience life."

"It's literally experiencing the opposite of life right now." I steered him toward the house. "Let's get your fish back to its bowl before you do something you'll regret in the morning."

"Thanks," Jeremy mumbled, sounding suddenly more sober. "My sister would've killed me."

"No problem." I exhaled, realizing my palms had finally stopped sweating.

"You know," Tyler swam over to the edge, "that was actually pretty cool."

I blinked. "Stopping your friend from turning his goldfish into pool chow?"

"Yeah. Most people would've just posted it."

He said it like it was the most genuine compliment in the world.

"I don't know," I shrugged, feeling something weird and hopeful in my chest. "Maybe I'm just overthinking it."

"Maybe," Tyler said, "but maybe you're just the person who notices things that need noticing."

And for the first time all night, I didn't feel like I was missing some secret choreography. Maybe the dance wasn't about knowing the steps. Maybe it was about being willing to jump in even when you didn't.