Running Underwater

The cable snapped at 3:47 AM, the sound echoing through Maya's bedroom like a gunshot. Her dad had disconnected the internet again — third time this week — another casualty in their ongoing cold war since he moved out.

Maya flopped onto her bed, scrolling uselessly through her camera roll. 47 unread texts from Jordan. Two missed calls from Mom. The anxiety that had been swimming through her chest all week suddenly felt like it might actually drown her this time.

"You good?" Sierra's head popped through the window, fearless as ever. "My dad's working nights. We can take the boat out."

"Can't. Dad cut the cable. No WiFi to finish that history project."

"So?" Sierra raised an eyebrow. "The lake doesn't need WiFi, dummy. Come on."

Half an hour later, they were gliding across the glass-still water, the old motor coughing protests before settling into a steady thrum. Maya hadn't been swimming since the accident last summer — since Tommy's leg got caught in that underwater cable, since she froze instead of helping, since everyone looked at her differently at school.

"Your turn," Sierra said, cutting the engine. The silence was immediate, massive. "We're far enough out. No one's watching."

"I can't."

"Still?" Sierra's voice softened. "Maya, it's been a year. You're not running from that lake forever."

"Maybe I am." Maya looked at the dark water, at the moon reflecting like a scar. "Some things don't just... fix."

"No," Sierra agreed quietly. "But you don't have to carry them alone. Jump with me?"

Maya hesitated. The weight in her chest felt lighter suddenly, swimming upstream against the fear instead of letting it pull her under. She stood up.

"Together?"

"Together."

They hit the water at the same moment, the shock of cold knocking the air out of both of them. When Maya surfaced, laughing despite herself, she realized she'd stopped running without even noticing.