Chlorine Truths

The vitamin water stand at Jenna's pool party was my sanctuary. Between you and me, hiding behind the cooler of Raspberry ICE was pretty pathetic, but sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do when the baseball team shows up shirtless.

Tyler Rodriguez, varsity captain and resident god, was doing laps in the pool. His arms cut through the water with this effortless rhythm that had half the sophomores pretending they needed to adjust their bikini tops every thirty seconds.

My best friend Maya found me behind the cooler.

"So that's where you disappeared to," she said. "Hiding from the baseball squad?"

I gestured at the pool. "Tyler's looking particularly godlike today. I'm practicing invisibility until I can magically transform into someone who doesn't look like a newborn fawn around guys."

"You're fine," Maya said. "Besides, Tyler's not even that great. He's always posting these Sphinx riddles on his story, acting mysterious so girls will DM him. It's literally his whole brand."

Suddenly Tyler climbed out of the pool, water streaming off his shoulders like something out of a movie. Girls scattered. He started walking—straight toward the cooler.

My heart performed this weird seize-up maneuver.

He stopped right next to me.

"Hey," he said. "You're Elena, right?"

My brain blue-screened. "Uh. Yeah. Hi."

"Love your answers to my story riddles." He grinned. "You actually get them. Most people are just trying to be clever, but you actually think."

"Sphinx riddles?" I managed.

"You're always the first to answer. You're actually funny about it too. Not trying too hard."

"Thanks," I squeaked.

"Cool." He grabbed a vitamin water and headed back. "See you at school."

Maya stared at me. "DID THAT JUST HAPPEN?"

The next morning, my phone blew up. Tyler had posted a picture from the party—just the pool and setting sun—captioned: "Where the Sphinx meets the people who actually get it. @Elena_M, you're hilarious."

Maya texted: YOU ARE OFFICIALLY PART OF THE COOL KID SQUAD.

I texted back: I have never known psychological terror like this before.

But here's the thing about pool parties and baseball gods and vitamin water stands—sometimes the universe just throws you a bone. Tyler wasn't some unattainable deity. He was just a guy who posted annoying riddles and needed someone who actually appreciated them.

So I screenshotted the post, sent it to Maya with about fifty heart-eye emojis, and tried to process the fact that my entire social existence had just pivoted on a single conversation beside a cooler of flavored water.

Sometimes growing up isn't about transforming into someone new. Sometimes it's just realizing that the version you already are? That one's actually pretty okay too.

Now I just had to survive seeing him in AP English without spontaneously combusting.