Summer of Small Bravery

The first pool party of sophomore year. I'd been sweating it for weeks—literally sweating, because my pits had other plans whenever I thought about Jessica watching me not know how to swim.

I'd been faking it forever. The dog paddle. The casual lean-against-the-wall. The "I'm good, just chilling" while everyone else did cannonballs and chicken fights. pathetic.

"You coming in?" Marcus called. He was already doing laps, because Marcus was built different and also knew how to swim without drowning.

"Yeah, just warming up," I lied, adjusting my snapback for the third time.

My phone buzzed. Mom: "Bear got out again. Come home before he tears up the neighborhood."

Bear. My childhood teddy bear that I'd supposedly "grown out of" in sixth grade but still kept under my bed because eighth grade me was a coward and freshman me wasn't much better. Also the dog—actual dog, Buster—had separation anxiety and loved destroying things when I left.

The weight of it hit me. I could bail. Again. Go home, rescue my childhood stuffed animal from my trauma-response dog, and spend another weekend scrolling while everyone else lived their best lives.

Or.

I pulled off my snapback and tossed it on a lawn chair.

"Watch this," I told nobody in particular.

The pool water was cold as hell but I didn't stop. I sank, then kicked, then remembered some YouTube tutorial from three months ago and actually did the thing. The strokes. The breathing. The not dying.

Jessica was watching. She was definitely watching.

I made it to the other end, gasping, feeling like I'd just run a marathon but also like I could fight God and win.

"Finally," Marcus said. "Where've you been hiding that?"

"Around," I said, treading water like I owned it.

"Again," said Jessica from the edge. "Race you."

I grinned. My phone could wait. Bear would survive. Buster would survive. The coward version of me?

Not anymore.

I pushed off the wall, water streaming past my ears, and thought: sophomore year was gonna be different.