Signal Lost in the Deep End

Leo's summer had three constants: his ancient **dog** Buster snoring on the porch, his knuckles-white grip on his **iPhone** 12 (case cracked, always at 17% battery), and the distinct feeling he was missing out. While his friends posted stories from Connor's pool parties—sun-drenched, chlorine-scented, impossibly cool—Leo was stuck working at his dad's electronics repair shop.

"The **cable** on this router is fried," his dad had announced that morning, sliding a tangled mess toward him. "Running" to the supply store was Leo's escape. He'd grab the part, cruise through the neighborhood, maybe catch WiFi long enough to see what he was missing.

That's when everything went sideways.

Connor's pool party was in full swing when Leo's skateboard wheel caught a raised driveway edge. He went airborne—phone, dignity, and all—landing directly in the **pool**. The splash cleared to absolute silence. Twenty faces stared. Someone's phone was filming. This was it. Social suicide.

But then Connor was laughing, pulling him up. "Dude, that was legendary."

Suddenly Leo wasn't the repair shop kid anymore. He was the guy who'd literally dived into their party. Girls were asking if he was okay (he was), someone tossed him a towel (bless them), and his phone—still clutched in a death grip—was miraculously fine because OtterBox, apparently.

"You're totally coming to every party now," Connor declared, like it was settled law.

Leo's mom found him hours later, shirtless by their front door, towel around his neck, grinning at nothing. "Where's the router cable?" she asked.

"Oh." He patted his damp pockets. "About that."

His **dog** nudged his hand, sensing something. Leo scratched behind Buster's ears, still buzzing from it all. He'd blown the errand, destroyed his dad's timeline, and his phone was now at 3% with 47 unread messages.

And somehow, he'd never felt more alive.