Hat Trick at the Pool

The hat was everything. A beat-up Mariners cap, pulled low enough to hide the panic in my eyes. I'd spent three years perfecting the art of invisibility at Ridgeview High, and now Jordan's pool party threatened to undo all that work.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called from the water, splashing water that sparkled like someone had dumped glitter into the pool. Her hair was wet, perfect, the kind of effortless I spent hours trying to fake.

My iphone buzzed in my pocket – probably my mom asking if I'd put on sunscreen. I ignored it, gripping the pool's metal fence until my knuckles turned white. The problem wasn't the water. It was the inflatable baseball diamond floating in the middle of it, because Jordan's dad was "basically a youth sports legend" and apparently that meant torture devices.

"It's just baseball," Tyler said, appearing beside me with two sodas. "In water. How bad can it be?"

"I don't do sports," I muttered. "Or social interaction. Or existing."

Tyler laughed, actually laughed. "Dude, you're hilarious. Also, you're in."

Before I could protest, he'd dragged me to the edge of the pool. Maya paddled over, her eyes bright. "Finally! We need a fourth. Marcus and Emma are crushing everyone."

"I suck at baseball," I said.

"It's water baseball," Maya said, like that changed anything. "Also, your hat's sideways. Fixing it is step one to not sucking."

I adjusted it, suddenly hyper-aware. The hat had been my armor since seventh grade, when I realized looking down meant people couldn't see my face couldn't figure out what I was thinking. But Maya was waiting, and Tyler was grinning, and for some reason, I didn't want to disappear.

I jumped in.

The water was perfect. The inflatable baseball diamond wobbled precariously. I missed the first pitch, then the second. But then—crack. I connected, sending the plastic ball soaring over the fence into the neighbor's yard.

"OOOOH!" everyone screamed. Jordan's little brother started chanting my name.

"Rookie luck," Maya said, splashing me. "Do it again."

I didn't do it again. I struck out the next three times. But somehow, that didn't matter. We lost the game. I swallowed half the pool. But later, when I checked my iphone, there was a new contact: "Maya (Pool Party Legend)" and a message: "same time next week? bring the hat."

I smiled, adjusting the cap. Maybe invisibility was overrated anyway.