Swimming with Secrets

The social pyramid at Lincoln High wasn't built with stone—it was constructed with whispered rumors, expensive sneakers, and who sat at which lunch table. I'd spent my entire freshman year hovering near the bottom, somewhere between the kids who played Yu-Gi-Oh in the library and the ones who actually ate lunch in bathrooms. But this summer, I had a plan. Operation Main Character Energy.

It started with a swimming pool. Specifically, Chloe Martinez's above-ground pool, the location of the party of the year. My parents had finally sprung for cable internet after I spent all of eighth grade buffering through Netflix on my phone, which meant I could finally research how to actually talk to people without sounding like a Wikipedia article with anxiety.

"You're going to CHLOE'S?" My best friend Maya practically screamed through the phone. "She's, like, peak popular. Her uncle's that guy from that one TikTok."

"I know," I said, attempting to sound casual while my stomach did gymnastics routines. "It's whatever. Just gonna swim, maybe establish myself as someone who exists."

The night of the party, I discovered Chloe's family had this massive aquarium in the living room. Like, bigger than my bed. Inside swam the most depressed-looking goldfish I'd ever seen, just floating there like it had given up on life entirely. I named him Gerald in my head. Gerald understood the struggle.

I was mid-conversation with a junior whose name I definitely didn't remember (was it Brad? Chad? The letters all blurred together in my panic) when I spotted it. Behind the wet bar, partially hidden by a stack of red Solo cups: a blue ethernet cable, unplugged and coiled like a snake.

Here's the thing about growing up in 2024: you learn certain things. Like how an unplugged cable means someone's been messing with the router. And who would need to disconnect the WiFi at their own party?

Unless they were trying to hide something.

I became a spy. Not the cool NSA kind with gadgets—more like the awkward teen kind who's too curious for their own social standing. I followed the cable trail to the hallway closet, where I found Chloe herself, sitting on the floor with her phone, tissues everywhere, deleting photos from some account.

"Oh," she said, looking up with red eyes. "Hey. You're... what's your name again?"

"Leo," I said. "And you're okay. Whatever's happening, you're okay."

We ended up sitting there for twenty minutes while she told me about how her online friends had turned on her, how she felt like she was drowning in expectations, how she was tired of performing happiness for the pyramid.

"I just wanted to feel like myself again," she said. "Even if myself is someone who cries in closets and has a depressed goldfish."

"Gerald's not depressed," I said. "He's contemplative."

She laughed, actually laughed, and I felt something shift. Not like I'd suddenly become popular, but like maybe the pyramid was built on shaky foundations anyway.

The next day, Maya couldn't believe it when I told her. "You had a moment with CHLOE MARTINEZ? You're basically famous now."

"Nah," I said, thinking about Gerald the goldfish and the unplugged cable and how we were all just trying to figure out who we were. "I think I'm just done climbing pyramids. From now on, I'm swimming in my own lane."