Chlorine Kisses

The gummy **vitamin** sat on my tongue like a secret—a cherry-flavored rebellion against Mom's daily texts about my immune system. I crunched it, the flavor exploding against my nerves, which were already doing backflips.

Pool parties at Tyler's house were legendary, but standing here in my new swimsuit, I felt like I'd forgotten how to stand. Everyone was already in the water, and there it was—the **padel** court in the backyard, empty and judgment-free. That's where I should've been.

"You gonna stand there all day or actually get wet?" It was Mia, dripping pool water and confidence. She was the kind of girl who made everything look easy, including the way she tied her wet hair up without a mirror.

"I was just—" I started, but she'd already turned back to the **pool**, diving under with a splash that scattered droplets across my arms.

My phone buzzed. Mom: Did you take your vitamin?

I grabbed my phone: Yes.

Two truths: I had. But the real reason I'd come wasn't for the party. It was because Mia had mentioned wanting to learn padel next weekend, and I'd played with my dad enough times to fake being halfway decent. I'd even practiced my serve in the driveway this morning, like a loser with a mission.

"Hey!" Mia surfaced. "You play?"

"What?"

"Padel. I saw you looking at the court earlier. I'm trying to learn, but my friends are all about just tanning and ignoring me."

The **pool** water rippled around her shoulders. I could feel myself smiling before I even decided to.

"Yeah," I said. "I could show you some stuff."

"Tomorrow?" she asked, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "My cousin has a court near his place."

"Tomorrow works."

"Cool," she said, and then she did something that made my chest do that thing where it forgets how to be normal. She grinned—really grinned, like she meant it. "Bring extra vitamins. You look like you might need them."

I laughed. For the first time all day, I actually laughed.

Later, as we sat on the edge of the **pool** with our feet in the water, watching the sunset turn everything impossible shades of pink, I realized Mom had been right about one thing: sometimes you need exactly what you didn't know you needed.

Even if it came in gummy form.