The Bear in the Deep End

Maya stood at the edge of the pool, chlorine stinging her nose, heart doing gymnastics in her chest. Sweet sixteen, and she was about to do something terrifying.

The water glittered like spilled diamonds under the string lights, but her stomach was doing backflips. Jordan was floating on an inflatable pizza slice, phone in hand, probably posting stories that made everyone else's life look basic. They'd been best friends since sixth grade, but lately Jordan treated her like a backup account — there when convenient, archived when not.

"Hey," Maya said, voice barely loud enough to carry over the pump-up playlist. "Can we talk?"

Jordan paddled over, floppy hat covering half her face. "What's up? You're not gonna bear your soul or anything, right? Not a vibes check moment."

Maya's fists clenched at her sides. "Actually, yeah. Because you've been acting different, and I need to know if we're still cool or if I should find a new plus-one."

Jordan's jaw dropped. The pizza slice spun lazily. "Whoa. Where's this coming from?"

"You know exactly where. Last weekend? Promised you'd help with my history project, bailed to hang with the varsity crowd. Didn't even text. And that's just the latest receipt."

The music thumped. Someone cannonballed in the shallow end, sending ripples across the surface. Maya waited, heart hammering. This was it — friendship probation or friendship over.

Jordan kicked her legs, stirring the water into tiny whirlpools. "Okay, facts. I have been flaky. But my parents are talking about divorce, and hanging with the popular kids is easier than thinking about my mom moving out next month."

Maya's anger dissolved. "Wait, what? You didn't tell me any of that."

"Because if I say it out loud, it's real." Jordan's voice cracked. "You're my actual best friend, Maya. I was scared to bear it all and have you look at me like a charity case."

"You're literally the opposite of a charity case." Maya slid into the pool, clothes and all. The water swallowed her in a cool embrace. When she resurfaced, Jordan was right there. "We're ride-or-die, remember? Divorce doesn't change that."

Jordan splashed her. "You're wearing clothes to a pool party. Zero rizz."

"And you're still my friend even though you're emotionally constipated."

They treaded water together as the party swirled around them, holding onto the one thing that mattered more than likes or followers or whoever sat at which lunch table. Some friendships sink, but this one? This one floated.