Bucket Hat Confidential

The neon green bucket hat perched on my head like a neon sign screaming 'DON'T LOOK AT ME.' Mom had bought it for 'sun protection' which was really code for 'please embarrass yourself, Maya.'

I stood at the edge of Jake's pool party, clutching a vitamin water like it was my only lifeline. The popular kids splashed in the water, their laughter bouncing off the fence, while I played my usual role: background character in someone else's movie.

That's when I saw it—Jake, the same Jake who'd barely acknowledged my existence since sixth grade, slipping behind the shed. My curiosity overrode my dignity. I crept closer, feeling like a total spy even though I was just walking through someone's backyard.

There he was, crouched behind the shed, palm full of colorful gummy vitamins.

"What are you doing?" The words fell out before I could stop them.

Jake jumped, nearly dropping his vitamins. "Maya? You—you wear that hat everywhere?"

"Only when I want to blend in," I lied. "What's with the vitamins? You sick?"

He laughed, this nervous sound I'd never heard from Confident Jake. "My mom's convinced I'm deficient in everything. Says if I don't take these, I'll get scurvy or something. Who even gets scurvy in 2024?"

We stood there, him clutching his gummy vitamins, me adjusting my ridiculous hat, both of us exposed in ways we hadn't planned.

"You want one?" he offered, holding out a neon orange gummy. "They're actually decent."

"Sure," I said, like this was totally normal. Like I didn't spend half my seventh-grade year staring at him from behind my locker door.

The vitamin was good. Sweet and tart and unexpectedly real.

"Your hat's not that bad," Jake said, almost sincere. "My little sister has one in pink. She never takes it off either."

"Your sister has better taste than me," I shot back, and he laughed.

"Hey." He gestured toward the pool. "You coming in? Or are you gonna spy on me from behind the shed all summer?"