The Cat Who Knew Everything

Fifteen and afraid of the pool. That was me. While my friends were doing cannonballs and flirting with the swim team, I was parked on a lounge chair under the umbrella, pretending to check my phone like my life depended on it.

"You coming in or what?" Jordan called from the water, droplets sparkling like diamonds on his shoulders. We'd been flirting all summer, and today was supposed to be the day I finally stopped making excuses.

"Maybe later," I lied. My heart pounded like I'd just run a marathon.

My mom had started making me take these ridiculous vitamin gummies shaped like bears because she said I was "looking pale" and needed more sunshine. More sunshine meant the pool. The pool meant my secret coming out. The math wasn't mathing.

That's when I saw the cat—a calico that lived somewhere in the apartment complex, usually slinking around the dumpster like it owned the place. But today it was perched on the fence, watching me with those judgmental yellow eyes.

"You think you're so cool," I muttered. "Bet you can't swim either."

The cat meowed. It sounded like laughing.

Jordan swam over to the edge, resting his arms on the concrete. "You okay? You look intense."

I looked at Jordan with his wet hair and his actual smile and his zero idea that I was a fraud. I looked at the cat, still watching, still knowing.

"I can't swim," I blurted. The words tumbled out like I'd tripped over them.

Jordan blinked. Water dripped from his eyelashes. "Wait, actually?"

"Yeah. Like, at all. Sink like a rock." I waited for the laughter. The teasing. The "oh my god, seriously?" that I'd been dreading since sixth grade.

"Okay," Jordan said, like it was nothing. "Wanna learn?"

"What?"

"I can teach you. It's not that hard. My little sister learned last year and she's seven." He splashed some water at me. "Come on. I promise not to let you drown."

The cat meowed again, somehow sounding approving.

So I got in the water. And Jordan taught me how to float, how to kick, how to stop fighting the water and just let it hold me up. And somewhere between my third failed attempt at a stroke and Jordan laughing so hard at my terrible form that he swallowed pool water, I realized nobody actually cared.

Later that night, my mom asked how my day went while handing me my daily vitamin.

"Learned to swim," I said, popping the bear-shaped gummy. "Also, there's this cat that's been watching us. I think it's my spirit animal."

She stared at me. "That's... specific."

"Welcome to my life, Mom."

The cat was still on the fence when I looked out the window. This time, it blinked slow, like a wink. Like it knew all along that some things just take time, and that's okay.