Poolside Zombies

I was basically a **zombie** that summer, dragging myself through my shift at the community **pool** where the popular kids晒 themselves like overpriced leather. My job consisted of blowing my whistle at people who knew I couldn't actually do anything, and pretending not to notice when Tyler's crew snuck in beer cans under the bench.

That Tuesday, Marcus—the sophomore who'd somehow started a multilevel marketing scheme selling "artisanal" ropes—cornered me near the snack bar. He'd built this whole **pyramid** of energy drink cans on the picnic table, trying to convince me my summer would be way more epic if I joined his "team." I was this close to saying yes just to make him leave, when Jordan rolled up.

Jordan, who played varsity **baseball** and had hair that defied physics and humidity. Jordan, who I'd been lowkey obsessed with since seventh grade health class.

"Dude, don't do it," Jordan said, sliding onto the bench next to me. "Marcus got me to sell that junk last year. My mom's still mad about the boxes in the garage."

Marcus's face fell. His pyramid of cans tipped over, cascading across the table. I tried not to laugh. Failed.

"Whatever," Marcus muttered, grabbing his backpack. "You're all missing out."

After he left, Jordan looked at me, really looked at me, and I felt that terrifying electric feeling, like the moment before your phone dies. "Wanna come over? We're marathoning **cable** movies at my place. My parents are gone."

I said yes before my brain could process the implications. Jordan's house. Alone. Movies.

We spent six hours watching terrible horror movies and eating an entire pizza. Jordan's arm touched mine on the couch and I forgot how to breathe. We talked about nothing and everything—about how much we both hated Marcus's schemes, about how baseball season was basically our whole lives, about how sometimes we felt like zombies just going through the motions.

"You're not a zombie," Jordan said suddenly, as the credits rolled on some movie about the apocalypse. "You're just... biding your time."

That night, walking home under streetlights that made everything look golden and possible, I realized Jordan was right. I wasn't stuck in the shallow end anymore. I was finally swimming.