Sink or Swim Summer

My first day as a junior counselor at Camp Pine Lake, I immediately regretted everything. The humidity alone was doing something awful to my hair, and I'd already said "you too" when someone told me their name was Marcus.

"You good, newbie?" That was Riley, my assigned mentor friend who radiated the kind of effortless confidence I'd been faking since middle school. They flipped their clipboard like they owned the place. "First jitters hit everyone. Even Bear."

"Bear?" I asked, picturing actual wildlife.

"Head counselor. Ancient. Been here 47 summers. His real name is Barry but everyone calls him Bear because he literally growls when he's annoyed." Riley grinned. "Which is always."

The first week blurred into a haze of mosquito bites, corny cheers, and pretending I knew what I was doing. Then came swimming assessments—my literal nightmare scenario. I'd never exactly been what you'd call "water confident," which was putting it mildly. My pool experiences consisted mostly of clinging to the wall while toddlers splashed past me.

But here I was, supposed to supervise a dozen screaming eleven-year-olds at the lake. Standing at the dock in my oversized camp tee, I felt like a fraud. What was I doing here? These kids deserved someone who could actually, you know, swim well.

That's when I saw it—a cat padding along the shoreline like it owned the place. At summer camp. Zero chill. The orange tabby stopped at the water's edge, dipped a paw in, and immediately recoiled with a look of pure betrayal.

"Dude," Riley whispered beside me. "That cat literally has more attitude than everyone here combined."

Something about that ridiculous cat's genuine shock at wetness broke me. I started laughing, really laughing, for the first time all week. The nervous knot in my chest loosened.

"Alright, listen up," I called out, surprising myself with my steady voice. "Before we get in, who knows the buddy system?" Hands shot up. "Good. Now who's ready to show me their best cannonball?"

By summer's end, I'd stopped faking confidence and started actually feeling it. Bear even grunted what sounded like "good job" once. And that cat? Turns out his name was Cinnamon and he'd been coming to camp for like six years. He still hated water. Some things never change. But I'd learned that sinking was optional—and sometimes, you just have to jump in anyway.