Poolside Panic Attack

TheinvitationcameviaSnapchat—ofcourseitdid. Jenna's rager, complete with actual Instagram invites and a playlist someone definitely spent three days curating.

I stood at the gate, heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird. This was it. My first real party since moving to Northwood High. My palms were sweating, and I hadn't even stepped inside yet.

"You coming in or what?"

I jumped. Marcus from my English class leaned against the fence, grinning. "Chill, new kid. Nobody's gonna bite."

"Right," I managed. "Just... taking it all in."

The backyard was packed. People I'd only seen in hallways were clustered around the pool, some dangling feet in the water, others posing dramatically for stories. The air smelled like chlorine and cheap body spray and that particular teenage desperation to be cool.

I spotted Jenna holding court in the deep end, surrounded by what I'd come to learn was The Popular Group. She caught my eye and waved, and suddenly I felt like the world's biggest goldfish—mouth opening and closing, nothing coming out.

"Hey! You made it!" She paddled over, dripping wet. "Get in!"

"I didn't bring a—" I started, but she was already splashing water at me.

"Clothes dry, clothes die!" someone shouted. The group laughed.

I stood frozen, stuck in that terrible moment where every option seems wrong. If I left now, I'd be That Kid Who Couldn't Hang. If I stayed, I'd be Awkward Dry Person watching everyone else have the time of their lives.

Then Marcus cannonballed into the pool, sending a wave of chlorinated water over my sneakers.

"Whoops," he said, surfacing. "My bad. Or... my good?"

Something in me cracked. Not broke—cracked open.

I kicked off my vans and jumped in.

The water shocked my skin, cold and perfect. For a second, everything was muffled and blue and simple. Then I surfaced, sputtering, to everyone cheering.

"There he is!" Jenna called.

Later, as the sun set and people started filtering out, Marcus found me sitting on the pool edge, feet dangling in the water.

"Not bad for your first party," he said. "You survived."

"Barely," I admitted. "I felt like I was going to throw up the whole time."

"You gotta bear with it," he said. "It gets easier. Or you just stop caring what people think. That's the real secret."

I looked at the water rippling around my legs, tiny waves reflecting the party lights. Maybe he was right. Maybe growing up was just learning to swim in the deep end before you were ready.

"Next time," I said, "I'm bringing a towel."

Marcus laughed. "Now you're getting it."