The Summer We Sank

The pyramid scheme started at Marco's pool party, which should've been my first red flag. I mean, who brings business charts to a pool party? But Marco had that way of making everything sound legit.

"It's not MLM, it's *financial freedom*," he said, passing out flyers while we were trying to play pool. His parents' basement, with its felt-covered table and dim lighting, became headquarters. "You just need three recruits, and they get three, and—"

"That's literally a pyramid," said Priya, Marco's neighbor since forever. She was already running toward the snack bar, probably sensing the BS.

That's when I noticed Marco's new friend, Skylar, floating in the actual pool outside. Skylar had transferred in sophomore year with expensive headphones and zero interest in making friends. Now suddenly they were besties?

"You in or not?" Marco asked me.

The thing about friendship in high school: it's like swimming in the ocean at dusk. Beautiful and terrifying, and you can't see what's beneath you until it brushes your ankle.

I said no. Priya said no. But Skylar said yes.

By July, Marco and Skylar were selling "vitamin supplements" out of Skylar's car, posting cringey TikToks about being young entrepreneurs. They stopped coming to our weekly swimming sessions at the community center. They ghosted group chats.

Then came the crash.

Turns out the "company" was under investigation. Skylar's parents freaked. Marco's Instagram went private. The empire collapsed faster than a sandcastle in a hurricane.

I found Marco sitting by the pool at his house in late August, legs in the water, staring at nothing.

"They were using me," he said, voice cracking. "Skylar's parents are lawyers. They knew what they were doing. I was just the stupid friend with a pool."

I sat beside him, both of us watching the water ripple. Pool parties, schemes, friendship—sometimes you don't know you're drowning until you're already gasping for air.

"We're swimming again tomorrow," I said. "Same time."

He nodded.

Some friendships survive the summer. Some don't. The ones that matter are the ones still running beside you when the tide goes out.