When she surfaced, she was in the deep end, where the water came up to her chin. She treaded water, legs scissoring slowly, and looked back at the house.
That was the thing no one told you about turning eighteen: how loud the silence becomes. In high school, every minute was scheduled. Classes, practice, study groups, shifts at the café, texts from friends, calls from her mom, the endless buzzing of group chats. She had craved quiet the way a runner craves water. But this—this was different. This was the quiet of after . After the applications were sent. After the last homecoming game. After the acceptance letters started arriving (and the rejections, too). After her best friend left for college a semester early. After her boyfriend broke up with her because "we’re going different places," which was just a polite way of saying he didn't want to try. emily 18 alone in the pool at nightrar
But she knew.
She thought about diving in. Not just the physical act, but the metaphorical one. Diving into the unknown. Diving into the next chapter. Diving into the terrifying, exhilarating responsibility of building a life that actually felt like hers. When she surfaced, she was in the deep
Instead, she opened a notebook—the blank one she had been saving for something important—and wrote at the top of the first page: In high school, every minute was scheduled
What do I actually want?