The Pool Party Protocol

Maya's golden retriever, Buster, sensed her anxiety before she even grabbed the doorknob. His wet nose nudged her hand, those concerned puppy eyes asking if she really had to go to Jessica's pool party.

"You'll be fine, girl," she whispered to herself, though her hands shook. Junior year. The summer everything was supposed to change.

The text that started this whole mess had been simple enough from Jessica: pool party 2day, everyone coming, u in?? Maya had typed hell yes before remembering she didn't actually own a swimsuit that wasn't from middle school, and oh yeah, she couldn't swim.

Her older brother Derrick had offered to teach her, but his idea of instruction was tossing her into the community pool while yelling sink or swim, sis. She'd chosen sink, apparently, because she'd spent that entire evening at home eating papaya from their mom's latest tropical fruit phase and watching her phone screen stay dark.

No texts. No invites. Just papaya and regrets.

The party scene was exactly what she feared: perfect bodies glistening with sunscreen, music blasting, Jessica's new boyfriend showing off his abs. Everyone gravitating toward the water like it contained the meaning of life.

"Maya! Finally!" Jessica waved from the pool's edge. "Get in here!"

Her feet inched toward the pool's edge while her brain calculated escape routes. The internet cable at home was still broken after last week's storm, so she couldn't even fake a family emergency.

Then something caught her eye—Buster had followed her, snuck through someone's left-open gate, and was now gleefully cannonballing into the deep end.

"Buster! No!" she cried, suddenly knee-deep in the water, clothes and all, grabbing for her dog's collar.

The pool erupted in laughter. But not mean laughter. Not Jessica and her friends' usual you're-so-weird laughter. This was different. This was oh my god your dog is amazing laughter.

By the time she'd hauled a very wet, very pleased Buster out of the pool, her cutoff shorts were soaked through, her mascara was running down her face like black tears, and Jessica was handing her a towel like they'd been best friends since kindergarten.

"Your dog just did what I've wanted to do all summer," Jessica said. "That pool's so chlorinated my hair's practically turning green."

Maya looked down at her drenched clothes, at Buster happily shaking water all over everyone's expensive towels, at her phone finally buzzing with texts from people asking if she was okay, if she needed anything.

"Yeah," she said, grinning despite everything. "I guess the water's not so bad after all."

She pulled out her phone and texted Derrick: sinking vs swimming. I get it now.

His response came instantly: about time, little fish. Now text me when you're home. And bring home some papaya. Mom's craving it.

Maya laughed, really laughed, and for the first time, she didn't feel like she was drowning at all.