Green Water Ghost

Maya''s parents didn''t know she couldn''t swim. At sixteen, that was practically criminal—especially living in California where everyone assumed you emerged from the womb doing backstroke.

"You going to the pool again?" her mom asked, sliding a Tupperware across the counter. "Eat your lunch."

Maya stared at the contents: a literal mountain of spinach. "Mom, I''m not a rabbit."

"It''s got iron. You need energy for... whatever you do at the Y." Her mom paused, eyes narrowing. "You never bring friends home."

Because her friends would definitely judge her for taking secret beginner swimming lessons with a bunch of seven-year-olds.

"I''m focusing on me right now," Maya said, grabbing the container.

The YMCA pool smelled like chlorine and childhood failure. Her instructor, Gary (seventy, wearing swim trunks from 1985), clapped his hands. "Today''s the day, Maya! No more noodles!"

The noodle—the foam buoyancy device that had become her safety blanket—floated mockingly near the lane line.

She glanced toward the glass doors. Through them, she saw HIM: Ethan from AP Chem, heading toward the weight room. If he walked past and saw her clinging to a foam noodle like a terrified toddler, she would simply dissolve.

"Okay," she breathed. "Okay. I can do this."

She pushed off the wall. The water engulfed her. Too deep. Always too deep. Her arms flailed, legs kicking wildly as her brain supplied helpful commentary: *YOU''RE GOING TO DIE THIS IS IT THIS IS HOW IT ENDS—*

Something brushed against her leg.

Maya surfaced, gasping, prepared to grab the noodle—

—and locked eyes with Ethan, standing poolside in basketball shorts, holding a tangled mess of something.

"Your cable," he said, holding up the earphone wire she''d somehow knocked loose from her waterproof case. "It was wrapped around the lane line."

She treaded water, heart pounding. "Oh. Thanks."

"You okay? You look like you saw a ghost."

"I''m fine," she lied, then promptly inhaled half the pool.

Ethan laughed—actually laughed, not mean-laughed—and crouched down. "Hey. My cousin didn''t learn until she was fifteen. Everyone starts somewhere."

Maya wiped water from her eyes. "You saw?"

"I see lots of things. I also see someone who needs to breathe." He held out a hand. "Want to try the cable trick? It helps with rhythm."

"The... cable trick?"

He dangled the earphone wire. "You focus on keeping it steady above water while you kick. Music helps. I''ve got this playlist—"

"Ethan!" His friend called from the weight room. "Leg day awaits!"

He stood up. "Friday. Same time. I''ll bring my extra aux cord. We''ll sync up." He winked. "No spinach required."

Maya watched him go, then looked at the Tupperware on the deck. Maybe lunch wasn''t so bad after all.

Maybe the water wasn't so scary either.