Orange Bathing Suit Summer

The orange bikini had seemed like a good idea in the Target fitting room, under fluorescent lighting that made everyone look like a zombie. But now, standing at the edge of Miller's pool while Jenna Wheeler and her perfect circle of friends looked on, I felt like a traffic cone. A bright, fluorescent, everyone-look-at-me traffic cone.

"You gonna swim or just stand there posing?" Jake called from the deep end, grinning that stupid grin that made my stomach do things I refused to acknowledge publicly.

"I'm assessing the situation," I shot back, trying to sound chill instead of terrified. My armpits were sweating. In a swimsuit. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Mrs. Miller appeared with chips and dip, saving me from having to actually make a decision. The spinach artichoke dip looked homemade and amazing and possibly my salvation from standing there like an awkward orange sculpture.

I loaded up my plate, caught Jake watching me, and immediately started choking. Nothing says "I'm cool and definitely not overthinking everything" like nearly dying on spinach at a pool party. I could feel my face burning hotter than the sun reflecting off the water.

"You good?" Jake was suddenly there, hand on my shoulder, way too close. His skin was warm and damp from the pool and he smelled like coconut sunscreen and oh god, was there spinach in my teeth?

"Yeah," I wheezed. "Just went down the wrong pipe. I'm good. Totally good."

He grinned. "You've got a little—" He gestured at his own teeth.

I wanted to die. I wanted to dissolve into the concrete and never reconstitute. Instead, I mumbled "thanks" and practically sprinted toward the pool, cannonballing into the deep end like my dignity depended on it.

The water swallowed me whole, cool and silent and perfect. I stayed underwater as long as possible, surfacing only when my lungs demanded it. Jake was still at the edge, watching, smiling.

"Better?" he called.

I treaded water, suddenly aware that I was bearing way more than my share of emotional baggage for someone I'd known since kindergarten who'd only recently started making my heart feel like it was trying to escape my chest.

"Much," I lied.

"Good," he said, and did a perfect dive that sent water splashing everywhere. "Come back in. The dip's worth it."

And the worst part? He was right. But I stayed in the water anyway, my orange swimsuit bright and unignorable, finally deciding that if this was going to be my summer, I might as well own it.