The Last Real Summer

The pool at the Hendersons' house glittered like something from a TikTok I'd watched but never lived. I clutched my towel like armor, watching from the safety of the patio chairs.

"You coming in or what?" Riley called, dripping wet and grinning. My best friend since sixth grade, now somehow the person I barely recognized.

"Maybe later," I said, picking at the **papaya** in the fruit bowl beside me. It was too ripe, almost fermenting in the July heat. Everything felt like it was rotting from the inside out this summer – our friendship, my confidence, whatever version of myself I thought I was building.

Riley dove back in, surfacing with a splash. Everyone laughed. Everyone always laughed at Riley's jokes, Riley's perfectly imperfect hair, Riley's ability to exist without overthinking every microexpression like I did.

**Swimming** through the shallow end, I noticed something weird. The popular kids – the ones who normally ruled everything with their curated lives and effortless dominance – moved differently today. Jerky. Repetitive. Like they were going through motions they'd memorized from somewhere else.

Then it hit me: they'd all become the same person. Same phone cases, same slang, same half-lidded expression of curated boredom. Actual **zombie** apocalypse, but make it aesthetic.

Riley swam over, wiping water from eyes that suddenly looked tired. "This party sucks, right?"

I blinked. "What?"

"Everyone's just performing. It's exhausting." Riley's voice dropped. "I miss when we could just be awkward without apologizing for it."

Something in my chest loosened. "Let's get out of here."

We grabbed our towels and left the glittering pool behind, walking to the convenience store in our wet swimsuits. Bought melting ice cream bars and sat on the curb. Not performing. Not drowning.

Just two people remembering how to be real.

"Next year's gonna be weird," Riley said, licking chocolate from their thumb.

"Yeah." I smiled, really smiled. "But we'll figure it out."

The papaya I'd left behind was probably turning brown by now. Some things have to rot for something else to grow. We weren't the same people we'd been in June, and maybe that was okay.