Signal Lost

The coaxial **cable** dangling from my bedroom wall had been dead for months, ever since my parents cut the TV subscription to "save money" (translation: to stop me from rotting my brain with reality shows). But tonight, with my phone battery dead and insomnia winning again, I found myself twisting the connector, desperate for anything to distract me from replaying the cafeteria disaster where I'd tripped and spilled an entire lunch tray onto the popular table.

Static hissed, then cleared—a grainy security feed flickered to life. The pool. Someone had rigged the neighborhood pool's camera system to this old cable line.

I watched, fascinated, as three figures slipped through the fence after midnight. They dove in, clothes and all, and I recognized them instantly: Chloe, Ryan, and Jake—the same trio who'd laughed when I face-planted into their mashed potatoes earlier.

Part of me wanted to look away. This was basically **spy** work, creepy and invasive. But another part, the part that felt perpetually on the outside looking in, couldn't stop watching. They weren't the polished, effortless people I saw at school. Chloe kept trying to climb onto Ryan's shoulders and failing spectacularly. Jake did a cannonball that somehow ended with him flopping onto the concrete like a dying fish.

They were awkward. Messy. Human.

**Swimming** at 2 AM in street clothes, completely unbothered by who might see them.

The next day at school, I caught Chloe's eye in the hallway. For the first time, I didn't look away. "Nice form on that shoulder dive," I said, my voice barely steady.

She froze. Then her face broke into this genuine smile—nothing like the practiced cool-girl expression she usually wore. "You SAW that? Oh my god, I looked like a drunk mermaid."

"Better than Jake," I said. "Think he's still recovering from his fish impression."

She laughed—a real laugh, heads turning in the hallway. "You should come tonight. Ryan says he's gonna teach us to do actual flips, and I'm definitely gonna need someone to call 911 when I drown."

"I'm not exactly a pro swimmer," I admitted.

"Neither are we," she said. "That's kinda the whole point."

That night, I left my phone dead on purpose. Some connections don't need a cable at all.