Sink or Swim

The morning sun hits my face like a judgment I'm not ready for. I'm staring at the orange pill bottle—my mom's latest attempt to fix whatever she thinks is broken about me. "Take your **vitamin**, Maya," she'd said this morning, like it's the solution to my failed geometry test, my ghosting of Jake's texts, and the fact that I still sleep with a stuffed narwhal. (Don't judge. His name is Swish.)

I'm standing at the community pool, clutching my phone like it's the last life vest on a sinking ship. The **iPhone** screen shows seventeen unread texts from my best friend Kai, all variations of "WHERE R U???" and "PLS RESPOND." I can't. Not yet. Not after what happened at lunch yesterday when everyone saw me cry in the cafeteria because I couldn't open a chocolate milk carton. (Side note: those cartons are engineered by actual villains.)

"You coming in or what?" It's Marcus, the swim team captain with shoulders that make me question everything. He's treading water near the lane markers, looking annoyingly confident.

"I'm... I'm thinking about it," I call back, lying through my teeth. I'm not thinking about it. I'm actively avoiding it.

"Your phone's not gonna save you from **swimming**," he grins, splashing water at the deck. "Water's wet. Shocking, I know."

Something in his tone—this perfect mix of sarcastic and actually kind—makes my shoulders drop two inches. I shove the phone in my bag. The vitamin from this morning sits heavy in my stomach, but maybe that's not the worst thing. Maybe some things are supposed to feel uncomfortable at first. Maybe growth is just your body learning to handle something new.

I toe the edge of the pool. The water smells like chlorine and second chances.

"Fine," I say. "But if I drown, I'm haunting you first."

Marcus laughs, and it's the first real sound I've made all week. "Deal. Now get in. The water's actually fine once you stop overthinking it."

I jump. The cold hits me like electricity, and for a second, I panic. Then I break the surface, gasping, and Marcus is there already, treading water like he was born in it.

"See? You're swimming."

I am. I'm actually swimming. And for the first time in forever, I'm not thinking about the texts I haven't answered, the test I failed, or the fact that I don't know who I'm becoming. I'm just here. Cold water. Sun on my face. A boy who's not laughing at me but with me.

I'll answer Kai later. Maybe tomorrow. Right now, I'm just going to float.