Green Teeth and Blue Water

The invitation to Jordan Miller's pool party had been sitting on my phone for three days, mocking me. Jordan, who had actual rizz and whose Instagram stories always looked like a movie. Me? I was the girl who smelled like chlorine 24/7 and owned more swim caps than shoes.

'You going?' Maya asked as we sat on my bed, scrolling through the invite list. 'Brianna's gonna be there.'

'I don't have a bathing suit that says cool kid,' I muttered. 'I have racing suits that say I care about lap times.'

Maya rolled her eyes so hard I thought they'd fall out. 'So wear something else. It's a POOL, not the Olympics.'

The problem wasn't just the pool part. It was everything. The food, the people, the existing. I'd spent the last month taking these weird SPINACH smoothies my swim coach swore by—something about 'building endurance'—and multivitamins the size of horse pills. Because apparently if I couldn't be naturally talented, I'd chemically enhance my way there. No cap, I was desperate.

Saturday arrived with humidity so thick it felt like breathing through a wet blanket. My stomach did somersaults as Maya dragged me toward Jordan's house, where bass thudded from somewhere beyond the privacy fence.

'You got this,' she said, but her hands were shaking too.

The backyard was chaos—people everywhere, music, laughter. And there he was. Jordan. Looking annoyingly perfect in cutoffs and a faded band tee, talking to Brianna like it was the most natural thing in the world.

I made it approximately seven minutes before disaster struck. Someone bumped into me near the snack table, and my cup—containing the remainder of my morning spinach disaster—splashed everywhere. Including my white tank top.

'Nice shirt,' said this guy I didn't know, grinning. 'What is that, modern art?'

My face burned. I bolted toward the pool, intending to disappear beneath the blue water and never resurface.

'Hey!' Jordan appeared beside me as I stood there, dripping and humiliated. 'You okay?'

'This is so embarrassing,' I whispered.

He studied me for a second, then smiled. 'Last week? I walked into a glass door at Chipotle. In front of everyone. While holding a burrito.'

'No way.'

'Way. Burrito exploded everywhere. YouTube has the footage.'

I laughed before I could stop myself.

'You swim, right?' he asked. 'I've seen you at the community pool.'

'Yeah, but I'm not exactly fast.'

'Neither am I.' He splashed water at me. 'Wanna race?'

And just like that, the terrifying Jordan Miller became... just Jordan. A guy who walked into glass doors and made terrible jokes. We spent the rest of the afternoon racing poorly and making up increasingly ridiculous rules.

Later, as the sun began to set, Jordan sat beside me on the pool edge. 'Hey, about next weekend—'

'Yeah?'

'Want to come back? No party. Just swimming. And maybe no spinach smoothies this time?'

I smiled. 'Deal.'