Sink or Swim

The iPhone vibrated against my thigh — a group chat blowing up about Tyler's party. Everyone going? the screen read. I hovered over the keyboard, thumbs frozen.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called from the **pool** edge, her cutoffs already soaked. She did that casual lean-back thing that looked so effortless, like she belonged in chlorine-scented air while I was still trying to figure out how to exist.

"Yeah, just," I started, but then Barnaby — Tyler's massive, chaos-energy golden retriever — came barreling out of nowhere like a furry cannonball. Straight toward me.

I didn't think. I just moved. Phone slipped from my grip. Slow motion, horror movie style. It hit the deck with the worst sound ever — that distinct crack-gulp that means your social life is officially over.

Barnaby skidded to a halt, sniffed theiPhone where it lay near the edge, and decided this was his moment to shine. The **dog** nudged it with his nose, once, twice, then sent it sliding straight into the water with a splash so tiny it was almost insulting.

"Oh shit," Maya said, but she was laughing. "Your dad's gonna kill you."

I stared at the ripples where my digital life had just drowned. No more notifications. No more overthinking every text. No more watching everyone live their best lives through screens while I stood on the sidelines.

Then something weird happened. The panic didn't come. Instead, I jumped.

The shock of cold water hit like a reset button. I surfaced, sputtering, to Maya actually clapping.

"That's what I'm talking about!" she yelled.

Later, wrapped in a beach towel with rice in a bowl nearby (thanks, Tyler's mom), I watched the sunset through actual eyes instead of a screen. The cracked phone sat there, dark and useless, and somehow I'd never felt lighter.

"So," Maya said, sitting beside me. "Tomorrow, you wanna hang out? Like, for real?"

"Yeah," I said, and it didn't feel like a performance. "Yeah, I'd like that."