The Bear at the Bottom of the Pool

The pool party was supposed to be legendary. Marcus's parents were out of town, which basically meant social carte blanche for the entire junior class. I was floating in the deep end, nursing a lukewarm soda, watching Kayla across the water. She'd been my friend since seventh grade, but lately everything felt different. Charged, like the air before a storm.

Then Jason had to ruin it by suggesting a baseball game in the backyard. "It's practically dark," I said, but he was already rounding people up. Typical jock behavior — always needing to be the center of attention.

That's when the first lightning crack split the sky. Someone screamed — dramatic, even for us — and suddenly everyone was scrambling out of the pool like we were under attack. The storm had come out of literally nowhere.

I was grabbing my towel when I noticed someone still in the water. Bear.

Bear wasn't his real name, obviously — it was Matt — but everyone called him that because he'd shown up to freshman year wearing this ridiculous bear costume he'd refused to explain. He just drifted there, staring at the bottom of the pool like he'd forgotten how to swim.

"Bear, get out!" I yelled over the thunder.

He didn't move.

I waded back in. The water felt electric against my skin. "Dude, what are you doing?"

"I lost my contacts," he said, his voice barely audible. "I can't see anything."

And just like that, the cool kid facade fell away. The Bear, the guy everyone laughed with, was vulnerable. I helped him to the edge, and we ended up huddled under the patio umbrella while everyone else partied in the basement, listening to the rain pound against the pool surface.

"I hate these things," he admitted, finally. "The parties. The pretending."

"Me too," I said, and it was the most honest thing I'd said all year.

We sat there while the storm passed, two people seeing each other for the first time. Sometimes it takes getting caught in the lightning to figure out who your real friends are.