Dropped Signals

Maya's fingers hovered over the screen, heart doing that familiar stutter thing whenever his name popped up. The pool party raged around her—laughter, splashing, someone blasting Doja Cat—but she was hyper-focused on her iphone, refreshing Instagram like her life depended on it.

"You gonna spy on his profile all night or actually talk to him?" Kara appeared beside her, holding two red Solo cups. "You're being weird."

"I'm not spying," Maya lied, sliding her phone into the pocket of her cutoffs. "Just... gathering intel. It's called being strategic."

"It's called being down bad." Kara smirked. "Also, you should probably know—Jared and his crew are doing cannonballs off the diving board. Move your stuff."

Too late.

The first wave hit like a slap. Maya shrieked as her bag—phone inside—tumbled into the shallow end. She scrambled toward the water, but Tyler beat her there, already reaching down.

"Got it," he said, surfacing with her dripping bag. He was one of Jared's friends, quiet but with those intense eyes that made her stomach flip. Not that she'd ever admit it.

"My phone—" Maya started, but he was already shaking it out, droplets flying everywhere.

"It's probably fried, honestly." Tyler handed it over, their fingers brushing for a microsecond. "You could try the rice trick, though."

Maya stared at her black screen. No more refreshing. No more stalking, no more carefully curated posts to catch someone's attention. Just... nothing.

"Hey." Tyler's voice dropped. "You know, everyone's so obsessed with capturing everything tonight, nobody's actually... here."

He looked at the pool, where people were still laughing and splashing under the string lights. Water rippled everywhere, distorting the reflections.

"Yeah," Maya said, something loosening in her chest. "Yeah, exactly."

"I'm Tyler, by the way."

"Maya." She slid her phone into her wet bag without checking it once. "You wanna get in the water?"

He grinned, and she pretended not to notice how it made her feel. "Race you to the deep end."

Later that night, she'd discover her phone still worked. But by then, she'd already gotten Tyler's number the old-fashioned way—he'd written it on her arm in sharpie, and she hadn't washed it off yet.