Screenshots and Chlorine

The air behind the school gym smelled like old tennis balls and anticipation. That's where the pool operated—not the kind with water, but the kind where you threw in five bucks and picked who was dating who by Friday.

"I've got twenty on Marcus and Jasmine," Maya said, flicking her hair like she owned the place. She did. Her dad owned three car dealerships. "They've been 'studying together' every night this week."

I hesitated, thumbing the crisp bill in my pocket. Renting money. But the pool had made Friday interesting since seventh grade, and something about the way Marcus looked at Jasmine in chem yesterday made me think Maya was right.

"You in, best friend?" she asked, calling it like it was nothing.

That word hit different lately. Best friend. Like if she said it enough times, it would erase what happened at Homecoming. What I saw on her phone when she left it unlocked on the cafeteria table. The screenshots she'd saved. The fake accounts she'd made to comment mean stuff on half the sophomore girls' posts.

"You know I'm broke till I start at Smoothie King next week," I deflected, sweating despite the October chill.

The truth: I'd seen the screenshots. I knew why Kayla transferred schools. I knew whose hair got "accidentally" chopped off in the locker room, and who had posted about it anonymously five minutes later. And I kept showing up to this pool every Friday, watching Maya collect cash, saying nothing.

My phone buzzed. Unknown number.

*You know what she did to your sister last year. Check her photos archive. Hidden folder. Passcode's her birthday.*

My hands shook. Kayla. My actual best friend, the one who transferred sophomore year when rumors spread about things she never did. Things nobody could prove.

"You in?" Maya repeated, checking her own iPhone, screen lighting up her face.

I looked at her—really looked at her. The girl who'd sat with me when I cried over my first crush failing. Who brought me soup when I had mono. Who'd somehow always known everyone's secrets.

"Maya," I said, my voice cracking, "can I see your phone?"

"What? Why?"

"Just for a second."

She hesitated. That microsecond told me everything.

"No," I said, before she could respond. "I'm out. The pool, this, everything."

"You're what?"

"I'm done watching." I turned away. "Kayla's coming back next semester. You should probably figure out how to explain why she shouldn't hate your guts."

I walked toward the parking lot, my phone buzzing again. Unknown number: *Thanks for finally seeing it. Meet me at the smoothie place?*

I smiled. First time in two years, I didn't feel like I was drowning.