Green Teeth & Truth

The smoothie had seemed like a good idea at 7 AM. Now, staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, the **spinach** stuck between my front teeth looked like a small, unfortunate forest.

"Marcus! You're gonna be late!" Mom yelled from downstairs.

I grabbed my lucky **hat**—the faded black dad cap from that thrift store downtown—and pulled it low. Hide the braces, hide the nerves, fake the confidence. Classic survival strategy.

The car ride to Tyler's house was silent except for my mom's attempt at encouragement. "Just be yourself, honey. People like you for you."

Yeah right. Being myself was exactly who I was trying not to be.

Tyler's neighborhood had those houses that looked like they were trying too hard. When we pulled up, I could already hear music thumping from the backyard. The infamous **pool** party. The one everyone had been talking about since May. The one Jasmine would be at.

Jasmine, who sat behind me in chemistry and drew tiny flowers on her notebook margins. Jasmine, who I'd barely spoken to but had spent approximately 473 hours thinking about.

I walked through the side gate and immediately felt overdressed. Everyone was in swimsuits or tank tops, and here I was in my favorite hoodie—my protective armor against social interaction. The air smelled like chlorine and coconut sunscreen.

"Yo Marcus! Finally made it!" Tyler materialized, holding a red cup. "You gonna swim or what?"

"Maybe later," I said, which meant absolutely not.

I grabbed a bottle of **water** from the cooler and posted up against the fence, doing my best impression of someone who was totally chill and not internally screaming.

That's when I saw her. Jasmine. She was sitting on the pool edge, feet in the water, laughing at something Tyler's older brother was saying. She looked effortless and golden and like she belonged in movies.

"Dude, I'm telling you," Tyler's brother, Ryan, announced to his captive audience. "I saw this kid at the Y last week, total **bull** that he swam a 22-second 50 free. No way. I've been swimming my whole life, and that's impossible."

Jasmine frowned. "Actually, I think that's the state record?"

Ryan laughed dismissively. "What would you know about it?"

Something in my stomach tightened. Maybe it was the spinach smoothie curdling. Maybe it was the way he talked to her, like her opinion was cute but irrelevant.

I opened my mouth before my brain could intervene.

"It's not impossible," I said. The words hung in the humid air. Everyone turned. My face burned. "I mean, the state record's actually a 21-point-something. But 22 is definitely possible if you've been training since you were six."

Ryan squinted at me. "And you would know this because...?"

I lifted my hat slightly, revealing my messed-up hair and the braces I'd been trying to hide all day. "Because I've been swimming since I was six. My best time's a 23-point-something. So 22's not bull—it's just better than me."

Silence.

Jasmine smiled. It wasn't polite. It was real. "That's actually really cool."

Ryan shrugged, disinterested now that the moment had passed. "Whatever. Anyone want more chips?"

Jasmine slid into the water and motioned for me to join her.

"You coming in? The water's perfect."

I looked at my hoodie. Then at my reflection in the sliding glass door—hat low, shoulders hunched, hiding.

"Yeah," I said, pulling off the hat. "Yeah, I'm coming."

The spinach was probably still there. But somehow, it didn't seem like the most important thing anymore.