Everyone clapped when I said today was the day. Daddy called it bravery. Mom kissed my hair, said I’d earned my popsicle already.
The deep end was darker. Not like the sparkly parts where light bounced back. It looked like a mirror you could fall through. Cold, even before I jumped.
I told myself to do it quick. Just one big splash.
So I jumped.
I remember the whoosh in my ears. My swimsuit stuck to my skin. The water folded over me and the whole world blinked blue.
I kicked hard, like Daddy showed me. My arms sliced up. My nose burned from the chlorine. I could see the top—like wrinkled glass above my head—but it wasn’t getting closer.
I kicked again. Harder. My chest started to pinch. But when I reached up, the surface felt… different. Like saran wrap. I touched it, and it jiggled but didn’t break.
I pressed harder. Scraped at it with my nails. My bubbles hit it and slid sideways.
I could see them—Mom, Daddy, the lifeguard in red—blurred through the shimmer. They looked like fish behind a screen. I opened my mouth but only got water.
I banged on the top. My hands slapped it. No sound. Only my heartbeat clanging in my ears.
Then… something touched my foot.
I thought maybe the drain was sucking me. But it was soft. Then another touch—higher, along my leg.
Hands.
Not grabbing. Just… patting.
When I turned, I saw her.
A girl my size. Hair floated around her like seaweed. Her eyes were wide but not afraid. She didn’t blink. Just stared.
She reached out and took my hand. Her fingers felt rubbery, not warm. When I tried to pull away, she held tighter.
She opened her mouth, but no bubbles came out.
Just black.
Like ink.
I shook my head. Kicked again. Hit the surface with both fists. It wobbled. Didn’t break.
I could still see the sun above, but it was smaller now.
When I looked back, more kids were down there. Some big, some small. All staring. All quiet. One floated upside down, like she forgot which way was up. One had a balloon, but it didn’t rise.
The first girl tugged my arm gently. Then again. They wanted me to stop trying.
They weren’t mean. Just tired.
I tried screaming. Nothing came out but bubbles.
I started to forget what air tasted like.
They circled me, not tight, not touching anymore. Just waiting.
Maybe I’d just rest.
Just for a second.
I blinked, and everything above looked farther away.
No more splashes. No more clapping.
Only the deep, and the hands, and the slow, slow sinking.