Chlorine Kicks

The invitation sat on my phone screen like a dare: **POOL** PARTY @ JASON'S — BRING SWIMSUIT (AND FRIENDS LOL). I'd been crushing on Jason since seventh period English, when he let me borrow his pen and our fingers brushed for exactly 0.3 seconds. Now he was inviting me. To a pool party. Where I'd have to be seen in a swimsuit. In public. Where people existed.

I panicked-shopped a swimsuit at Target — bright **orange**, because apparently I wanted to look like a traffic cone. My best friend Ty said it looked fire, but Ty also once ate a whole bag of Takis and threw up on the bus, so his judgment was questionable.

Saturday arrived with my stomach doing full gymnastics routines. I stood outside Jason's house for ten minutes, hyping myself up like I was about to enter the Hunger Games. Inside, the pool glittered like something from a music video. People were everywhere — laughing, splashing, being effortlessly cool while I stood there in my traffic-cone suit feeling like a literal potato.

Then I saw the snack table. Chips, dip, fruit, and a giant bowl of something green. **Spinach** artichoke dip. My mom's specialty. The one thing I could actually make without setting off the smoke alarm. An idea sparked.

"Hey, is that good?" Jason appeared beside me, dripping wet and devastatingly normal.

"Oh yeah, my mom makes this all the time," I said, aiming for casual and landing somewhere near 'robot trying human behavior.' "I could probably make it better though."

Jason laughed. "Bet. Next party, you're bringing dip."

"Deal."

We spent the next hour talking about everything and nothing — his terrible swimming skills, my embarrassing music taste, how both our moms had ruined vegetables for us forever. By the time I left, I had his number, a new nickname (Traffic Cone), and the sudden realization that maybe being seen wasn't the worst thing in the world.

Sometimes the scariest things — pool parties, bright orange swimsuits, putting yourself out there — end up being exactly what you need. Even if you do smell like chlorine for three days straight.