The Summer I Couldn't Swipe Away

My cat Luther sat on my windowsill, judging me as I stared at my iPhone screen for the third hour straight. The notification glare reflected in his yellow eyes—Bella had posted. Again.

"You're obsessed," my mom called from the hallway. She was right. Ever since Jason broke up with me two weeks before freshman year, I'd been tracking everyone's moves like a private investigator with too much time and too little dignity.

The goldfish bowl caught the afternoon sun, casting wavering patterns across my ceiling. Goldie had been my consolation prize from the county fair last August—Dad had won him for me after I struck out at tryouts. Now the fish just floated, staring. I felt seen.

Then came the text from Marcus: Party at the bear cave. U up?

The bear cave was what his friends called his basement after his mom got married to that guy with the taxidermy hobby. The mounted bear head watched over everything—poker games, failed makeout sessions, now this.

I stood there, Luther winding between my legs, goldfish casting dancing shadows, phone burning in my hand. Go back out there? Let people ask if I was okay? Watch Jason probably with someone new?

Or stay here with my cat and my fish and my curated feed of other people's perfect lives?

Goldie did that thing where he swam to the top, mouth opening and closing like he had something to say. Probably feed me, but I took it as sign.

I grabbed my jacket. Luther meowed—approval, maybe. The bear cave wasn't exactly redemption, but it wasn't this room either.

Sometimes growing up means swimming to the surface even when you don't know what you're going to say when you get there.