Chlorine Kisses and Orange Everything

The gummy **vitamin** had been staring at me from the kitchen counter for three weeks. Mom's latest attempt to fix my "deficiencies" — code for "why aren't you more like your cousin who plays three sports and has perfect skin?" I popped two into my mouth before leaving. If nothing else, they tasted like artificial strawberry and bad decisions.

The Miller family's **pool** party was already in full swing when I arrived. Kids from school everywhere, their skin glistening, their confidence levels dangerously high. I tugged at my **orange** bikini — the one I'd bought online after watching too many TikTok "summer aesthetic" videos at 2 AM. It had seemed bold and fun in my bedroom mirror. Now, under actual sunlight, surrounded by actual people, it felt less "main character energy" and more "walking traffic cone."

"Hey! You made it!" Maya materialized beside me, her own swimsuit a tasteful navy that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. "Come in, the **water**'s perfect!"

I hesitated. The pool looked inviting, turquoise and sparkling. But getting in meant the walk across the deck, the exposure, the inevitable moment where everyone would see me in my Traffic Cone Special.

"I'm good," I said. "Just... digesting."

Maya raised an eyebrow. "You've been standing there for twenty minutes, Lena. The snacks are over there if you're hungry."

"Not hungry. Just... thinking."

About how seventh grade had ended with my friend group fracturing into cliques I didn't understand. About how eighth grade was looming like a storm cloud. About how I'd dyed my hair orange last week because I wanted to be someone new, but mostly I just looked like a confused carrot.

Jackson from my English class cannonballed into the pool, sending a splash of water onto the deck. Some droplets landed on my legs.

"Sorry!" he called, surfacing. "Come in!"

Something in me snapped. Maybe it was the gummy vitamins kicking in. Maybe it was just exhaustion from my own anxiety. I walked to the edge and jumped.

The water was cool, shocking, alive. I surfaced to laughter — not mean laughter, but the genuine kind. Jackson high-fived me. Maya grinned. And as I floated on my back, looking up at the sky that really was turning orange with sunset, I realized: nobody was looking at my swimsuit. Nobody was analyzing my hair or my vitamin deficiencies or my awkward entry into the pool. They were just... living.

I swam over to where Jackson and Maya were having a splash fight. "Bet you can't catch me," I said.

Game on.