Paparaña & Poolside Secrets

The **hat** was supposed to be my armor. A vintage cowboy hat I'd found at a thrift store, because apparently that's what you wear to a pool party when you're terrified of actually swimming.

I stood by the snack table, clutching a slice of **papaya** like it was a lifeline. Everyone else was in the pool, laughing and splashing like they'd been friends since kindergarten. Meanwhile, I'd been invited because my mom knew Jake's mom. Classic.

"You gonna eat that, or just stare at it?"

I jumped. Jake's older sister, Chloe, stood there, her wet hair dripping onto her shoulders. She was a junior. She had a life.

"It's... interesting," I managed. "Never had papaya before."

"Try it." She grinned. "Unless you're scared of tropical fruit too."

I took a bite. Sweet, musky, weirdly good. I felt accomplished for three seconds.

"So," Chloe said, leaning against the table, "you been **spy**ing on Jake all day, or what?"

My face burned. "I wasn't—"

"Chill. I saw you watching him from behind that nacho bowl." She nudged me. "He's not that special."

I wasn't spying on Jake. I was spying on *them*—the kids who seemed to know exactly who they were. The ones who could just jump in a pool without overthinking it. Meanwhile, I was calculating social risks like they were math problems.

"Hey," Chloe said suddenly. "Wanna learn something?"

"What?"

"How to actually swim instead of standing by the snack table like a sad boba tea mascot."

I laughed, surprised. "I know how to swim."

"Do you?"

**Swimming** turned out to be the easy part. The hard part was letting go of the hat, letting myself be seen in a swimsuit, letting Chloe splash me until I forgot to be self-conscious. We raced to the other end of the pool, and I won, mostly because she let me, but it felt like winning anyway.

Later, Jake's **dog**—a chaotic golden retriever named Mango—shook water all over everyone, and the hat flew off my head and landed in the pool. We watched it sink like a tiny, felted ship.

"RIP," Chloe said.

"RIP," I agreed.

But I didn't need it anymore. I had papaya on my tongue, chlorine in my hair, and a text from Chloe that said, "Next party, you're coming in the pool first. No hats allowed."

Some armors aren't meant to last anyway.