Thunderstroke at Bear Creek

The vitamin D supplements sat on my bathroom counter like judgment in a orange plastic bottle. Mom's idea, obviously—something about me needing more sun despite spending half my life at outdoor swim practice. I grabbed the bottle, shoved two tablets in my pocket, and headed out.

Bear Creek Pool was already chaos when I arrived. Friday afternoon, humidity thick enough to chew, and Jordan was there—of course Jordan was there, wearing those stupidly expensive goggles that made him look like a competitive cyborg.

"You coming to the meet tomorrow?" he called, doing laps that made actual sense.

"Maybe," I lied, because saying I'd been panicking about my 100-meter freestyle since Tuesday would've been social suicide.

Then it happened—that weird pressure change that makes your ears feel like they're full of cotton. The sky went that sickly greenish-gray color that means oh no oh no oh no.

"Everyone out!" Coach Miller shouted, but I was already halfway across the pool when the first **lightning** flashed—a jagged white scar tearing open the clouds. And I swear I felt it, this electric hum in the water like the pool had become a giant conductive soup.

I practically launched myself over the edge, scrambling up the ladder like my life depended on it (which, okay, technically), and everyone was running toward the snack bar for cover when Jordan grabbed my arm.

"You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"I think I almost DIED, Jordan, let me process this moment of nearly being electrocuted—"

And then the weirdest thing happened: my phone buzzed in my wet pocket, and when I pulled it out, I realized I'd been clutching the vitamin tablets so hard they'd crushed into powder. My hand was coated in orange dust, looking ridiculous, and Jordan just started laughing.

"Dude, are you—were you swimming with vitamins?"

"They're for my bones!" I protested, which somehow made it worse.

But then he wasn't laughing anymore, just watching me with this weird expression. "You know you're actually pretty fast, right? Like, you could place tomorrow if you didn't overthink everything."

And maybe it was the near-death experience or the adrenaline or just the fact that Jordan freaking Chen noticed I existed, but something shifted. I wasn't just the kid who couldn't swallow a pill without water, wasn't just the backup swimmer who everyone forgot about.

"Yeah," I said, scraping vitamin residue off my palm and watching the rain start to sheet down in earnest. "Yeah. I think I might be."

The storm raged, Coach Miller herded everyone inside, and somewhere behind me, someone yelled "BEAR CREEK POOL, EVACUATE NOW" which was actually just the automated weather alarm but in that moment felt profound.

Tomorrow's meet would happen or it wouldn't. But for the first time, I actually believed I deserved to be there.