he agreed to come along. He sat on the edge of the pool with his sketchpad while the younger cousins splashed nearby.

The place buzzed with noise—children shrieking, lifeguards blowing whistles, the smell of sunscreen thick in the air. I was chatting with my sister near the snack bar when a piercing scream cut through the chatter. It wasn’t the playful shriek of a child; it was raw, terrified.

I spun around. In the shallow end, a tiny girl in a white T-shirt flailed wildly, her arms slapping at the water. Her head went under once, twice. For a moment, everyone froze.

Then Lucas dropped his pencil and dove straight in.

I remember the shock of seeing him, a boy who’d never been on the swim team, cut through the water with strong, sure strokes. He reached the girl just as she disappeared again, hooked his arm under hers, and kicked toward the ladder. The lifeguard was still blowing his whistle as Lucas hauled her onto the deck.