Running with the Bull at Miller's Pool

The backyard POOL glittered like liquid diamonds under string lights, but my stomach was doing backflips. Tonight was the night. The night I'd finally confront Jason about sophomore year.

I was RUNNING late, obviously. Nyla was already spamming my phone: *"where r u?? Miller's party is lit AF"*

I grabbed Buster, my ancient DOG with one cloudy eye and zero chill, and practically dragged him to the car. My therapist said emotional support animals helped with anxiety. Buster mostly helped by shedding on everything I owned and snoring loudly during my panic attacks.

The party was already popping when we arrived. Kids I'd known since middle school were doing cannonballs off the diving board while Coach Miller grilled burgers. Coach Miller—aka the BULL, for his biceps and his tendency to plow through anyone's excuses on the track team.

Then I saw Jason. The BARE-chested wonder who'd made my life miserable for three straight semesters. He was in the deep end, laughing with his crew like he hadn't spent years calling me "freak" and "weirdo" in the hallways.

My hands shook. Buster sensed it, pressing his warm side against my leg.

Jason spotted me. "Yo, Marcus! Finally made it?" He motioned to the empty lounge chair beside him. "Saved you a spot."

The old me would have bolted. The old me would've remembered every locker shove, every muttered insult, every day spent praying to be invisible.

But the new me—this new me who'd spent the summer working out, working on himself, and basically becoming someone who didn't take crap anymore—took a breath.

"Nah," I said, voice steady. "I'm good."

Jason's face fell. "Aw, come on, man. No hard feelings, right?"

Buster chose that moment to sneeze violently, spraying questionable drool everywhere. The moment broke. Someone yelled "DOG GOING ROGUE" and suddenly we were all laughing, even Jason.

Coach Miller ambled over, slapping an enormous hand on my shoulder. "Marcus! Good to see you, son. Cross-country tryouts next week—you bringing that fire?"

"You know it, Coach."

I ended up on the pool's edge, feet dangling in the cool water, surrounded by people I'd been terrified of for years. They were just people. Flawded, awkward, trying too hard people.

Buster curled up beside my chair, finally ready to nap. As I watched the water ripple around my ankles, I realized something: I hadn't been running toward this moment or away from it. I'd just been running. And somehow, that was enough.