Fox at the Pool Party

The chlorine burned my nose before I even stepped through the gate. Another Saturday, another pool party where I'd probably spend three hours holding my papaya body spray like a shield against awkwardness.

"You coming in or what?" Maya yelled from the deep end, splashing water everywhere.

I hesitated. My swimsuit felt two sizes too small. Across the pool, Riley—the girl everyone called Fox because she was somehow always three steps ahead of every social situation—was laughing with her friends. She'd dyed her hair copper last week and now the nickname fit even better.

A gray cat appeared on the fence, watching us like we were the entertainment. Probably judging my inability to just jump in.

"I'm good!" I called back, but Maya wasn't having it. She swam over, dripped onto the concrete, and grabbed my hand.

"You've been standing there forever. Come on."

She pulled me toward the steps. Fox looked over, locked eyes with me for a second, and actually smiled. Not the fake one she gave teachers. A real one.

"Finally!" she called. "We're playing sharks and minnows. You're it."

I plunged in. The water swallowed me—cool, shocking, and somehow easier than standing on the edge overthinking everything. When I surfaced, Fox was treading water nearby, that copper hair floating around her like a halo.

"You're actually pretty fast," she said.

"I'm trying not to get tagged," I admitted.

"Same." Her voice dropped. "Everyone thinks I've got it figured out. I'm just faking it till I make it."

The cat on the fence dipped its paw in the water, then bolted. Something shifted in my chest—the tightness I'd been carrying all summer loosened. Fox wasn't some untouchable social goddess. She was just a girl in a pool, pretending to know what she was doing.

"Same," I said back.

She grinned. "Wanna be on my team?"

Maybe I didn't need the papaya spray as a shield after all.