Lifeguard Graveyard Shift

The chlorine stung my eyes, or maybe that was just exhaustion. Three weeks of summer, and I'd already mastered the zombie lifeguard look—pale skin, dark circles, the kind of dead-inside vibe that said yes, I will save you, but also, please don't.

My coworker Rico sauntered in at 7 AM, already wearing his snapback backward because apparently sun protection wasn't cool. He pointed at my beat-up trucker hat—the same one I'd worn every day since freshman year.

"Still rocking that hat, huh? Classic Marcos."

"It's vintage, unlike your personality," I muttered, but Rico just laughed, spraying water everywhere with his kick off the diving board. The pool surface rippled like liquid silver, and somewhere in the distance, I heard the familiar bellow of Old Man Henderson's prize bull from the adjacent pasture. The creature had escaped twice this month, and each time, I'd had to evacuate terrified ten-year-olds while Rico tried to look heroic.

Today, however, was different. Today was the day Skylar Reynolds finally noticed me.

She arrived with her friends, all towel-wrapped and gorgeous, and suddenly my heart was doing something genuinely concerning. I adjusted my hat, trying to look casual instead of like I was actively malfunctioning. She waved. I waved back and immediately knocked over the rescue buoy.

Smooth.

"Hey Marcos," she said, sliding onto the edge of the pool. Her friends giggled nearby. "Your friend Rico told us you're, like, secretly good at photography?"

I blinked. "He said that?"

"Yeah. He showed us your Instagram. Your shots are actually fire." She tilted her head. "Why do you hide behind that hat all the time?"

Something in my chest unclenched. For three years, I'd been the quiet kid, the one who floated through high school like a ghost—present but invisible, watching from behind my camera lens and my trademark accessory. And somehow, without me noticing, Rico had been paying attention.

I took off the hat. My hair was ridiculous from wearing it all day, but Skylar smiled anyway.

"So," she said, kicking water toward me. "You want to hang out after your shift?"

The bull bellowed again from next door, someone cannonballed into the deep end, and Rico gave me a thumbs-up from the snack bar. I wasn't a zombie anymore. I was just Marcos, finally waking up.