Orange Soda & Chlorine Dreams

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could barely grip the orange soda can. She'd been standing by the snack table for twenty minutes, pretending to be fascinated by the Doritos selection while everyone else splashed in Tyler's backyard pool.

"You good?" Jordan appeared beside her, dripping wet and grinning like the situation wasn't absolutely torture.

"Totally," Maya lied. "Just... hydrating."

Jordan raised an eyebrow but didn't call her bluff. Instead, he nodded toward the pool where Tyler was currently showing off his diving skills for exactly three people who cared. "Wanna join? The water's actually not that cold."

Maya's stomach did that thing it always did when Jordan talked to her—like she'd swallowed too much carnival cotton candy. This was the problem with having a crush on your best friend's brother's best friend. The logistics alone were exhausting.

"I didn't bring a suit," she said, which was also a lie. Her swimsuit was in her bag, buried under three emergency layers of self-preservation.

"Borrow one from Tyler's sister. She's got like fifty." Jordan's golden retriever, Buster, chose that exact moment to shake himself vigorously directly beside them, spraying chlorinated water all over Maya's carefully curated going-out outfit.

"BRO," Jordan practically yelled, grabbing some napkins. "My bad, seriously."

But Maya was laughing, really laughing, for the first time all night. Because of course. Of course the universe had decided that if she wasn't going to get in the pool voluntarily, the pool would come to her.

"You know what?" Maya said, peeling off her now-damp cardigan. "Yeah. I'll go swimming."

And when she finally jumped in—orange soda abandoned, chlorine burning her eyes, Jordan cheering her on from the side—she realized that maybe, just maybe, the terrifying first moments were always the worst part. Everything after that was just learning how to float.