The Pool Party Pyramid

My palms were sweating so bad I had to wipe them on my swimsuit—again, which was ridiculous because I was literally standing five feet from a pool. Maya gripped my arm like she was trying to leave fingerprints.

"You're doing it," she insisted. "Everyone's watching."

The entire junior class was indeed watching, because apparently this was what passed for entertainment at Jordan's party: a human pyramid in the deep end. Three layers of people already stacked in the water, laughing and splashing like this wasn't literally the most dangerous thing anyone had done since Jake tried to jump off the roof into a snowbank last winter.

"I'm not great at swimming," I muttered, which was underselling it like saying the Titanic had a minor boat incident.

"That's why you're on the BOTTOM layer," she said, like this made perfect sense. "Just hold us up. Easy."

Easy for her to say—Maya was a swimmer. Me? I'd nearly drowned at the YMCA when I was seven, and since then, deep water gave me that specific chest-tightening feeling that made everything feel like a dream where you're running through pudding.

But then I looked at the pyramid formation they wanted, and honestly? It was so stupid it might actually work. Plus, Maya was my friend, and she'd been trying to get me to come out of my shell since sixth grade, and honestly, I was tired of being the kid who always sat on the sidelines watching everyone else have fun.

So I nodded.

Three minutes later, I was underwater, someone's foot in my ribs, wondering if this was how my life was going to end—drowned at a pool party while trying to impress people who'd forget my name by graduation.

Then I felt something wet and slimy lick my face. I burst to the surface, gasping, and nearly headbutted Jordan's golden retriever, Buster, who'd decided the whole pyramid situation was clearly an emergency and someone needed saving. He paddled around me like a furry lifeguard, barking at everyone like they'd personally offended his ancestors.

Everyone started laughing—not mean laughing, but actual laughing. Maya fell off someone's shoulders cackling. Jordan's brother helped me out of the pool, and someone handed me a towel like I hadn't just almost died.

"Good effort, man," Jordan said, and somehow, it didn't feel sarcastic.

Later, drying off in the sun with Buster snoring against my leg and Maya stealing my fries, I realized something: sometimes you just gotta jump in the deep end, and occasionally, you get to be the person who almost drowns at a pool party and somehow makes everything better anyway.

My palms weren't sweating anymore.

Progress.