Orange Soda Summer

Marcus stood at the edge of the pool clutching his orange soda like a lifeline. The ice had melted, turning the can cold and sweaty against his palm—just like his hands. Just like everything about this party.

"Yo Marcus, you gonna swim or what?" Tyler called out, already doing cannonballs off the diving board. Of course Tyler was in the water. Tyler was always where the action was, wearing that backwards baseball hat like it was welded to his head. Meanwhile, Marcus was still fully clothed, calculating how long he could stand there before someone noticed he'd been wearing the same shirt for three hours.

"I'm good," Marcus managed, taking a sip of flat orange soda. It tasted like regret and high-fructose corn syrup.

Then Sasha walked out of the house. Sasha, who'd sat behind him in bio since freshman year. Sasha, who he'd had approximately zero conversations with that didn't involve dissecting frogs or borrowing pencils. She was wearing this cutoff tee and—Marcus's brain short-circuited—she was holding a different orange soda. Same brand. Same

hesitation before opening it.

She stopped next to him at the pool's edge. "Water's cold, huh?"

Marcus almost dropped his soda. "Yeah. I mean, probably. I haven't—"

"Me neither," she said, cracking her can open. The fizz sound was somehow louder than the splash zone. "I'm just here for the snacks. And the aesthetic, I guess." She gestured at the pool with the orange can. "Very suburban coming-of-age moment. We should be grateful."

Marcus stared at her, then at the water, then back. "Is that... sarcasm?"

Sasha grinned, and something in Marcus's chest did that stupid flip thing. "Maybe we're both just awkward. Maybe this is just what teenagers do at parties." She popped the tab on her soda. "Wanna stand here and make fun of Tyler's form?"

"Tyler thinks he's in the Olympics," Marcus said without thinking.

"Literally yes," Sasha laughed, and Marcus felt his baseball hat (which he'd shoved in his pocket earlier) press against his leg, forgotten. "He did that exact same cannonball five times. I've been counting."

The sun was setting, turning the pool water gold and pink. Marcus realized his soda was actually almost gone, and somehow that was okay. Sometimes the best moments weren't the ones you planned for—the perfect entrance, the cool move, the cinematic splash. Sometimes they were just standing at the edge with someone who got it, sharing an orange soda and watching the world do its thing.

"Next party," Sasha said, "we're bringing better snacks. And I'm teaching you how to actually exist in social situations without looking like you're solving complex math problems in your head."

"Is it that obvious?"

"Marcus," she said, "you've been holding that empty can for ten minutes."

He laughed. The real kind. "Okay. But you're helping. With the snacks. And the—"

"Existing? Yeah," she said. "I got you."

The pool lights flickered on. The summer was just starting, and for once, Marcus wasn't worried about missing the moment. He was already in it.