Orange Skies Over the Pool

My lucky trucker hat — the one with the fraying brim I refused to throw away — sat low on my forehead as I leaned against the fence, watching them play. Padel. Of course Jamie had to discover padel this summer, right when we were supposed to be living our best pre-sophomore-year lives together.

The pool shimmered blue-green behind them, catching late afternoon light. Jamie's laugh carried across the deck — that laugh that used to be inside jokes between just the two of us, now echoing for everyone including Tyler, whose hair looked perfect even after diving in.

"You playing?" Tyler asked, jogging over with a racquet.

I shook my head, adjusting my hat lower. Someone had spilled orange soda near the lounge chairs. The sticky sweet scent mixed with chlorine and coconut sunscreen.

"Come on," Jamie called from the court. "It's basically tennis but easier."

Basically. Everything was basically something these days. Jamie was basically popular now. I was basically invisible unless convenient.

But then — Jamie's eyes found mine across the pool. Something flickered there. Recognition. The look that meant remember when we snuck out at 3 AM? Remember when we cried over the same YouTube video?

"I'll hold your spot," Jamie said softly, paddle lowered.

A friend. Maybe not the same friend who knew my coffee order and which songs made me cry, but still. Still.

The sky turned orange as sun slipped toward horizon. I took off my hat.

"Fine," I called back. "But you're going down."

Jamie grinned — really grinned. Some things, maybe, stayed.