The Night We Almost Died (Or Didn't)

The baseball bat felt heavy in my hands, sweat making my grip slippery. Jason's backyard stretched out before us, a patchy lawn that had seen too many neighborhood games and not enough water.

"Dude, you look like a zombie," Maya said, collapsing onto the porch swing next to me. "You've been running on three hours of sleep and Mountain Dew for two days straight."

"It's summer, May. Sleep is for the weak." I gestured with the bat, nearly taking out her soda can. "Besides, we're finally filming our masterpiece. Remember?"

Our zombie movie — which we'd been talking about since seventh grade — was actually happening. Jason's dad had finally caved and let us borrow his DSLR camera. The catch? We had to film everything in one night before he needed it back for some work thing.

"Guys!" Jason burst through the back door, phone pressed to his ear. "My cousin says he can get us into the rec center pool after hours. His girlfriend's the night manager."

Maya perked up. "Swimming? At midnight? That's actually not terrible."

"For the scene," I insisted, though I was already thinking about how good the water would feel. July in Atlanta was basically living inside someone's mouth. The rec center pool would be heaven.

Three hours later, we were sloshing through the rec center's back entrance, trying to be stealthy but mostly just wet and awkward. The pool stretched out before us, blue and perfect in the fluorescent lights. Jason set up the camera while Maya adjusted her zombie makeup — honestly too good, with her pale foundation and the fake blood we'd made from corn syrup and red food coloring.

"Okay, scene one: Zombie emerges from the water," Jason directed. "Action."

Maya slipped into the pool, surfacing with this creepy grace that made me forget I was watching my best friend since kindergarten. She started toward the camera, arms out, making these guttural sounds that were honestly impressive.

"Cut!" Jason yelled. "That was sick. But the cable keeps slipping. The lighting's all wrong."

We spent hours like that — filming, reshooting, laughing at our terrible acting. Around 2 AM, I jumped in for a scene where I'd supposedly "escaped" the zombie by swimming away. The water felt amazing, cool and perfect against my skin. For a moment, floating there looking up at the ceiling, I forgot about everything. Forgot about my awkward crush on Maya, forgot about how this summer was ending and we'd all be at different high schools in September, forgot about how everything was changing and I was just trying to keep up.

"Earth to Liam," Maya said, splashing water at me. "You're not filming. You're just... floating."

"Zoning out," I said, swimming toward the edge. "My bad."

Jason wrapped the cable around his arm. "I think we got what we need. This might actually not be terrible."

We dripped all the way home, wet clothes and fake blood and the kind of laughter that makes your stomach hurt. The baseball bat bounced against my leg, forgotten and unnecessary. Somewhere around 3 AM, Maya grabbed my hand, just for a second, squeezing it before letting go.

"This summer," she said, "wasn't a total wash."

"Yeah," I agreed, not thinking about zombie movies or swimming pools or anything else except how her hand had felt in mine. "Not bad at all."