Sink or Swim

The ethernet cable lay tangled on my floor like a dead snake. Mom had been begging me to fix the WiFi for weeks, and Tyler's pool party was in three hours. Priorities, you know?

I was crushing on Tyler since seventh period PE when he accidentally hit me in the face with a basketball and said sorry like he actually meant it. Now sophomore year, his Instagram stories were all about this legendary end-of-school bash. The invite list was rumored to be selective.

My beanie collection was my security blanket. Dad called me "Millennial Fred Rogers" but whatever. I chose the faded navy one with the tiny patch — not trying too hard, but not invisible either.

Buster, our golden retriever, chose that moment to sprint into my room, snatching the beanie right off my head. The chase ended outside, where I finally cornered him near the fence. He dropped the hat, but not before I'd tripped over the cable TV wire and faceplanted into a hydrangea.

Arrived at Tyler's with grass stains on my jeans and hat hair that said "I just wrestled a dog for this." The backyard was chaos — kids everywhere, music thumping, the pool reflecting slashes of sunlight. I spotted Tyler immediately. Of course he looked effortless.

I hovered near the snack table, calculating escape routes. Then this girl Sarah who'd graduated last year called out, "Freshman, right? You going in or what?"

"Sophomore," I corrected, then instantly hated myself.

"Whatever. Years don't matter in the pool. Everyone looks like a wet rat down there." She grinned. "Your dog or your little brother steal that hat? Looks like someone put up a fight."

Something about how she said it — not mean, just curious — made the knot in my stomach loosen. "Dog. Buster thinks he's a fashion critic."

"Respect." She nodded approvingly. "I'm in."

She cannonballed. I watched for a second, then grabbed my phone off the snack table and took a breath. The WiFi connection from earlier was terrible anyway.

I jumped. The water was perfect. When I surfaced, Tyler was there, holding my hat. "This fell? Nice beanie. You going to Oak Ridge next year?"

We talked until our fingers turned pruney. Later, I helped Sarah untangle her phone charger from the outdoor speaker cables. We exchanged Snapchats. Buster's crime spree became my origin story.

Sometimes you have to lose your hat, battle your dog, and faceplant in a hydrangea to find your way into the pool.