Chlorine and Confidence

The water in the Hernandez's pool looked like glass—perfect, still, terrifying. I stood at the edge wearing my two-piece from Target, suddenly aware it wasn't from Brandy Melville like everyone else's. My curls were frizzing in the humidity, and I'd forgotten to bring a swim cap. Rookie mistake.

"You coming in or what?" Tyler called from the deep end. He was treading water, all golden skin and easy confidence. My stomach did that thing where it simultaneously dropped and soared.

I dipped my toe in. Cold. But I wasn't about to let Tyler see me hesitate—not when he'd finally noticed me after three years of existing in adjacent friend groups. So I jumped.

The shock of cold water stole my breath. When I surfaced, hair plastered to my face like a drowning rat, everyone was laughing. But not mean laughing. Joining in laughing.

"Pyramid!" someone shouted. "Let's do a pyramid!"

Of course. The classic party trick. The popular kids formed the base, athletic bodies pressed together in the water. I hung back, but suddenly Tyler was beside me, water streaming from his hair.

"You're up top," he said. "Lightest person here."

I don't know if it was the chlorine or what, but my palm was sweating as I placed it on his shoulder. They boosted me up, legs wobbling, heart hammering. I felt precarious and powerful all at once—a human pyramid in a suburban pool, twenty different versions of cool and awkward and trying too hard all stacked together.

I looked down at Tyler. He was already looking up.

"Nice," he said. "You're like, actually flexible."

I almost slipped. "Thanks?"

The pyramid collapsed seconds later in an explosion of water and laughter. I went under, swallowed chlorinated water, came up sputtering. But for those few seconds, I'd been at the top of something—not bottom of the food chain for once.

Later, drying off on the patio with a towel that smelled like someone else's fabric softener, Tyler sat beside me.

"Your hair," he said, reaching toward it but stopping. "It's cool wet. Like, extra curly."

"Thanks," I said, like it wasn't the best compliment I'd received all year.

"Same time next weekend?"

"Definitely."

I walked home with wet hair and chlorine in my pores, already planning my outfit. Not from Brandy Melville. Just me.