Palm Shadows at Midnight

The party was supposed to be legendary. Everyone said Jake's pool gatherings were the highlight of sophomore year, the kind of event that could make or break your social standing before homecoming even rolled around. But there I was, pressed against the side of the house, nursing a lukewarm soda like it was my only lifeline.

A calico cat wound through my legs, purring like it knew exactly how out of place I felt. Someone — maybe Jake's older sister? — had named her Luna, which seemed fitting given how she appeared whenever things got awkward.

"You look like you're mentally calculating your exit route," a voice said.

I looked up to see Marcus, the guy from my English lit class who always had something insightful to say about whatever we were reading. He was holding an orange slice between his fingers, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Maybe," I admitted. "Is it that obvious?"

"Only to people who pay attention." He leaned back against the stucco wall beside me. The palm tree overhead cast long, swaying shadows across both of us. "Jake's parties are more hype than substance anyway. Last year, someone threw up in the pool. Twice."

I laughed, surprised. "That sounds like a nightmare."

"It was chaos." Marcus gestured toward the pool area, where dozens of people were standing around in clusters, phones glowing in the darkness. "Everyone's trying so hard to look like they're having the time of their lives. But mostly they're just waiting for someone else to do something worth posting about."

He was right. The whole scene felt staged, like we were all auditioning for a reality show no one had actually signed up for. I watched some guys attempting to demonstrate cannonballs while girls in cutoff shorts Instagrammed their orange creamsicles against the pool's glow.

"So what's the alternative?" I asked. "Just hiding on the sidelines?"

Marcus grinned. "I didn't say that." He took a bite of his orange. "I said we could pay attention to what's actually happening instead of what everyone's pretending is happening."

The cat chose that moment to jump onto a nearby lounge chair, curling up like she owned the place. Marcus pointed at her with his orange rind.

"See? Luna's living her best life. No performative nonsense."

I found myself actually smiling. "You're weird."

"Weird is better than fake." He tossed the orange rind toward a trash can, missing spectacularly. "Your call. Stay here and be miserable, or come help me find the good snacks Jake's mom definitely hid in the pantry."

Something about his tone — like it wasn't a pickup line, just an invitation — made the decision easy. I pushed off the wall, leaving the palm shadows behind.

"Lead the way."

The cat watched us go, already asleep. Behind us, the pool glittered with artificially blue water and fake laughter. Some parties were legendary for all the wrong reasons. Maybe finding someone real in the middle of all the pretending was better than legendary.

Maybe it was exactly what I needed.