Chloride Summers

The water in the Carter's pool shimmered like liquid sapphire, but I couldn't appreciate it. Not with Emma standing across from me, her palm pressed against some sketchy fortune teller's at the boardwalk yesterday still replaying in my head.

"She said I'd meet someone important this summer," Emma had said, eyes wide. "Someone who'd change everything."

I'd laughed. "We've been best friends since seventh grade, Em. How could anyone change that?"

But the baseball game last night proved me wrong. When Jake Miller slid into home, shirt riding up, revealing those ridiculous abs—I couldn't look away. Emma caught me staring and something shifted. The air between us thickened, charged with unspoken things.

Now, pool party Sunday, Emma's ignoring me. She's by the deep end with Jake, tossing a vitamin gummy into her mouth like it's candy. Jake's demonstrating his swing, talking about varsity tryouts, and Emma's hanging on every word like his voice is the only sound that matters.

I grab a cherry soda from the cooler. My reflection in the sliding glass door looks pathetic.

"You okay?" It's Marcus, that weird kid from AP History who sits behind me and draws anime characters in his notebook margins.

"Peachy," I say, but my voice cracks. "Just... friendship drama. You know how it is."

Marcus nods slowly. "My mom says friends are like vitamins. You need 'em, but sometimes you gotta switch brands."

I actually laugh. "That's terrible."

"But true though." He holds out his hand. "Wanna play chicken? The shallow end's not too deep."

Emma glances over. For a second, she looks jealous. Then Jake splashes her and she forgets I exist.

"Why not," I say.

Marcus's palm is warm and solid as he boosts me onto his shoulders. We're terrible at it—topple immediately, crashing into the water, surfacing sputtering and laughing. Emma's watching now, really watching, something flickering behind her eyes.

Maybe the fortune teller was right. Someone was going to change everything this summer. But maybe it wasn't Jake.

"Again?" Marcus asks, pushing wet hair from his eyes.

"Again," I say.

The water feels different now—less like something drowning me, more like something I could finally learn to swim in.