The Art of Treading Water

Maya stared at her phone, the charging **cable** frayed at the edges like her patience. Three texts sent to Jaz, zero replies. The 'typing...' bubble had appeared twenty minutes ago, then vanished like a cheap magic trick.

Her **cat**, Barnaby, wound around her ankles, purring like a tiny motorboat. At least someone still wanted her attention.

"You're not abandoned," Maya told him, scratching behind his ears. "You're just... recalibrating."

Like everything else since sophomore year started. Jaz had joined cross-country, discovered vintage thrift stores, and somehow accumulated a new friend group that seemed to exist in a filter Maya couldn't access. They posted aesthetic photos of milkshakes and sunsets while Maya was still rewatching the same Netflix shows alone.

The humidity pressed against her bedroom window like an unwanted invitation. Her parents' pool beckoned.

**Swimming** had always been her thinking place — the muffled world underwater, where problems became distant and manageable. Where she could pretend she was mermaid-born instead of just a girl whose best friend was drifting away.

She grabbed her towel and headed outside, Barnaby watching from the windowsill.

The water was perfect — cool enough to wake her up, warm enough to stay. Maya dove in, letting the silence envelop her. She opened her eyes underwater, watching the light dance on the pool bottom like scattered diamonds.

When she surfaced, gasping, her phone buzzed on the patio table.

*Hey, sorry!! Cross country practice ran late. Want to come over? Riley's bringing her guitar.*

Maya tread water, heart suddenly doing this weird fluttery thing.

Riley. The new friend. The one with vintage boots and apparently a guitar.

Maya thought about saying no. About preserving her dignity, about not being some backup plan. But then she remembered what her mom always said: sometimes you have to risk looking foolish to find out what's real.

She pulled herself from the pool, water streaming from her hair like she was some kind of mythical creature rising from the depths. She texted back: *On my way.*

Maybe new chapters didn't have to erase the old ones. Maybe they just added more pages.

Barnaby was still at the window, watching. Maya waved at him on her way inside.

"Wish me luck," she whispered. "I think I'm about to meet my future."