Electric at the Pool

I spent twenty minutes perfecting my hair before Jessica's pool party, only to have it poof into a frizz ball the second I stepped outside. Typical.

"You coming in or what?" Marco yelled, doing a cannonball that sent water flying everywhere.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses." I dipped my toes in. Swimming wasn't exactly my forte—like, at all—but I wasn't about to be the only one drying off on the sidelines while everyone else had fun.

The pool was packed. Jessica's older brother Ryan was there, looking annoyingly perfect as he dominated the volleyball game. I'd been crushing on him since seventh grade, which was pathetic because he barely knew I existed.

I took a deep breath and jumped in.

Bad timing.

A massive crack of thunder shook the sky. Lightning flashed across the horizon, turning everything stark white for a second. Everyone screamed.

"Everybody out!" Jessica's dad shouted from the patio. "Storm's coming in fast!"

We scrambled out of the pool, grabbing towels and rushing toward the covered patio. My hair was dripping, my mascara was probably running down my face, and I'd just swallowed half the pool. I looked like a drowned rat.

But then Ryan was there, handing me a towel. "You okay?"

My palms were sweating—I mean, more than usual. "Yeah. Just didn't expect the sky to explode."

He laughed, and it was this genuine sound that made my stomach do flip-flops. "Your hair's kind of epic right now. Just so you know."

I thought he was making fun of me. "Oh my god, I know it's a disaster—"

"No, I mean it." He reached out, like he was going to touch it, then stopped. "It's got personality. Unlike everyone else's perfectly straightened boring stuff."

The rain started pouring down, creating this wall of water between us and the pool. And in that moment, dripping wet and messy-haired and totally uncool, I felt more like myself than I had in months.

"Thanks," I said, and actually meant it.

Maybe being perfectly imperfect wasn't the worst thing in the world. Maybe lightning storms and frizzy hair and sweaty palms were just part of the deal. And maybe—just maybe—Ryan didn't want perfect anyway.