Greens and Games

I stood at the edge of the pool party, clutching my red solo cup like it was a lifeline. Everyone else was either doing cannonballs or playing beer pong with actual soda because the Lewises were weirdly strict about alcohol. Not that it mattered. I wasn't here for the drinks. I was here because Maya had invited me, and I'd been crushing on her since seventh grade math when she let me copy her homework during that week I had mono.

"Hey! You made it!" Maya splashed out of the water, droplets glistening on her arms. She looked incredible in her swimsuit, and I felt painfully aware of my own gangly limbs and the fact that I'd forgotten to put on sunscreen.

"Yeah, wouldn't miss it," I said, trying to sound casual. "This party's legendary."

"Come on in! The water's perfect!"

I hesitated. I loved swimming, but suddenly I was hyper-aware of the vitamin D supplements my mom made me take every morning because apparently her teenage son was incapable of getting nutrients the normal way. It was embarrassing, the way she'd leave those little gummy bears on the kitchen counter with sticky notes like "Eat ur vitamins!" like I was six.

"I'm good," I said. "Maybe later."

"Suit yourself." She shrugged and turned toward where her brother Leo and his friends were setting up a padel court on the patio. "You play?"

"Padel? Nah. I'm more of a baseball guy. Or I was, until I got cut from JV again."

"That's rough." She didn't sound like she actually cared, which stung more than it should have. "My dad says baseball's dying anyway. Padel's the future."

Her dad also said spinach was a superfood and made us eat it at every sleepover, so what did he know?

"Yeah, maybe," I said, watching as Leo served the ball with an effortless grace I'd never possess. "I should probably get going anyway."

"You just got here!"

"I know, I just—I forgot something."

"What?"

The truth was, I'd forgotten how to exist in social situations without feeling like everyone was secretly judging me for not being athletic enough or cool enough or just enough. I'd forgotten how to talk to girls without rehearsing entire conversations in my head. I'd forgotten how to be a normal teenager who didn't analyze every awkward pause like it was evidence of my fundamental inadequacy.

"Nothing," I said. "Just stuff."

Maya studied me for a second, and I braced myself for the rejection, the polite dismissal, the I'm-just-being-nice-because-my-mom-raised-me-right.

"You know," she said slowly, "my dad's actually terrible at padel. Like, actually terrible. But he still plays every weekend because he says it's not about being good, it's about showing up."

"That's inspiring," I said, "in a cringey dad way."

She laughed, and it was the best sound I'd heard all day. "Exactly. Come on, let's get some food. Mrs. Lewis made those spinach artichoke dip things."

"Spinach? Really?"

"Don't worry, there's enough cheese to kill the health benefits."

And just like that, I followed her toward the food table, feeling lighter than I had all afternoon. Maybe it wasn't about being the best at baseball or padel or whatever sport was trendy. Maybe it was just about showing up. And maybe, just maybe, I could finally stop being so afraid of jumping in the pool.