The Night I Almost Drowned (On Dry Land)

I'd been running on three hours of sleep and an unhealthy amount of Mountain Dew, which explains why I looked like a zombie when Lily finally noticed me at the party. The girl I'd been lowkey crushing on since seventh grade was walking toward me, and I was hyperventilating behind the solo cups.

"You okay?" she asked. "You look... dead."

"Just tired. Swim practice at 5 AM, you know?"

"Oh my god, you're actually crazy." She laughed, and it was this sound like wind chimes or whatever poets say laughter sounds like. "We're heading to Miller's Pond. You coming?"

Miller's Pond. Where seniors went to make questionable life choices. Where I'd never been invited. Where I was absolutely going.

Outside, Sasha's dog—a golden retriever named Brody who was somehow more popular than me—bounded toward my car. Someone shouted that he'd stolen a bag of chips. Classic Brody behavior.

The pond was exactly what you'd expect: murky water that smelled like algae and teenage recklessness. People were already jumping in, fully clothed because that's what cool people do.

"Living in the moment," Lily said, stripping down to her bikini. "You should try it sometime."

I was about to say something smooth, probably about how I lived in the moment all the time, when Marcus—the senior with the truck and the ego to match—shouted, "BULLSHIT, Johnson! You never even kissed her!"

The air went weird. Staticky.

"I DID TOO," someone yelled back.

"DO IT AGAIN THEN," Marcus challenged.

This was the thing about high school. You're just trying to survive, but suddenly you're part of someone else's performance. A spectator in your own life. A zombie watching people do things you're too scared to try.

Then Lily grabbed my hand. Her palm was warm and slightly sweaty and perfect.

"Wanna get out of here?" she whispered.

We ended up at the elementary school playground, sitting on swings in the dark. No big dramatic confession. No movie-perfect kiss under the stars. Just two people talking about everything and nothing until my phone died at 3 AM.

"I'm glad you came," she said, when we were back at her driveway.

"Me too."

"Even with the Marcus drama?"

"Even with that."

The next morning at swim practice, my coach yelled that I was moving like a zombie. But for the first time, I didn't feel like one. I felt like someone who'd spent hours talking to a girl who saw past the exhausted exterior. Someone who'd maybe, just maybe, started living in the moment.