The Art of Not Drowning

Marcus stood at the edge of the pool, chlorine stinging his nose. The water shimmered like broken glass under the fluorescent lights, and suddenly his lungs forgot how to work. This was supposed to be the easy part—just swimming laps for PE credit. But the water looked less like water and more like everything he couldn't say out loud.

"You good, Marc?" Jenna asked from the next lane. She'd already shaved her head and dyed what remained orange—the same orange as the sunset they'd watched from the roof last month, before everything got weird.

"Yeah," he lied, adjusting his goggles. "Just pacing myself."

Truth was, he'd been acting like a total spy lately, scrolling through her Instagram at 2 AM, reading between the lines of captions that probably meant nothing. His friends said he was overthinking it, that Jenna treated everyone like that—all casual touches and lingering looks that made your chest feel weird.

The whistle blew. Marcus dove in, but his arms moved like lead. He kept thinking about yesterday, when his mom had served spinach salad for dinner like it was some kind of peace offering after the fight about his grades. He'd pushed it around his plate, same way he pushed around everything that actually mattered.

Meanwhile, somewhere in the distance, the baseball team was practicing. Marcus could hear the crack of bats, the distant shouts. Baseball guys didn't overthink whether their best friend was flirting with them or just being Jenna. Baseball guys didn't panic about pool water.

He surfaced, gasping. Jenna was already finished, leaning against the pool edge, water dripping from her orange hair.

"You gonna tell me what's up," she said, not a question, "or am I gonna have to drag it out of you?"

Marcus treaded water, heart hammering against his ribs. The pool felt smaller suddenly, or maybe he was just ready to stop drowning in his own head.

"I think," he said, his voice echoing off the tiles, "I might like you. Like, in a way that's definitely not just friends."

Jenna didn't laugh. She didn't look away. She just splashed him, sending water straight up his nose.

"Took you long enough," she said, grinning. "I was literally about to start carrying signs to practice."

Later, as they walked home under streetlights, Marcus realized he'd forgotten to finish his laps. Somehow, that didn't matter anymore.