Poolside Secrets

Chlorine stung my eyes as I broke the surface, gasping. Summer swim practice at the community pool was supposed to be my escape—from the group chat blowing up, from the awkwardness with Jason after what happened at Maya's party, from everything.

"You're holding your breath too long," Coach Martinez yelled from the deck. "Again."

I pushed off the wall, fighting through the water, when something caught my eye near the pool equipment shed. A flash of ginger fur. The stray cat that had been hanging around all week—Coach called it Whiskers, but I'd secretly named it Finn.

After practice, I sat on the bench dripping wet, scrolling through Instagram while pretending to check my swim times. That's when I noticed—Mia had been viewing my stories. All of them. Even the ones from 2 AM.

"You're literally stalking my social media," I said, without looking up.

Mia's face flushed. "What? No. I was just... checking your swim times. Like, rooting for you."

"You viewed my story from Tuesday at 3 AM, Mia. That's not 'rooting.' That's being a total spy."

The words hung between us, heavier than they should have. We'd been best friends since seventh grade, but something had shifted. Maybe it was high school. Maybe it was the way everyone seemed to be performing versions of themselves online.

"I'm worried about you," Mia said quietly. "You've been different since the party."

I sighed. The party. Where I'd kissed Jason and immediately regretted it, where I'd felt everyone watching, judging. Where I'd realized that performing confidence was exhausting.

"I'm just figuring stuff out," I said. "It's called growing up."

Finn the cat appeared, rubbing against my leg. I reached down to pet him, his purr vibrating through my fingers.

"We're all figuring stuff out," Mia said, sitting beside me. "That's why I check your stories. I want to make sure you're okay. You know, without making it weird by asking."

I looked at her—really looked at her. She wasn't spying to be creepy. She was spying because she cared, in that awkward teenage way where we don't know how to have real conversations anymore.

"I'm okay," I said. "Mostly. But I could use a real friend who talks to me instead of just lurking on my stories."

Mia smiled, relieved. "Deal. But also, your 3 AM story? You looked adorable. Even with the raccoon eyes from crying."

I laughed. It felt good. Real.

"Want to help me feed Finn?" I asked. "I think he's hungry."

"Only if we can get boba after. My treat."

"You're on."

As we walked toward the shed with the cat food, I realized that growing up didn't mean doing it alone. It meant finding people who would spy on your stories at 3 AM because they cared enough to notice you weren't okay.