Papaya Lip Gloss Panic

The papaya lip gloss was supposed to be my confidence charm. Instead, it tasted like regret and artificial fruit flavoring.

I stood at the edge of Jake's pool party, nursing a lukewarm soda while everyone else splashed like they'd invented water. My track teammates kept shouting for me to join them—Maya, the girl who could run a 5:30 mile but apparently couldn't handle a casual dip.

"Come on!" Jake called from the pool, droplets rolling down his stupid perfect abs. "Don't make me come get you."

My stomach did that thing—that flip-flop nonsense that happens when your crush acknowledges your existence. I'd been crushing on Jake since seventh period PE, when he'd complimented my running form like it was actually something worth noticing.

But here's the thing about being the track star: nobody expects you to be good at everything else. Especially not swimming. Especially not in a bikini that felt basically like wearing my underwear in public.

"I'm good," I said, reapplying the papaya gloss like it was armor. My hands were shaking.

Then my best friend Lena—bless her chaotic energy—decided to help. She shoved me from behind.

I didn't just fall in. I launched. Arms flailing, dignity abandoning ship, I crashed into the pool with a gracelessness that would've made a dying flamingo proud. The papaya gloss immediately dissolved into something chemical and wrong on my tongue.

Underwater, everything went muffled and strange. For a second, I just floated there, letting the silence wash over me. Then strong hands grabbed my waist.

I broke the surface, sputtering, to find Jake holding me like I was something precious instead of a walking disaster.

"You okay?" His hair was plastered to his forehead. He was grinning. "That was... dramatic."

I wiped my face, feeling my carefully applied mascara running down my cheeks. "I hate everything."

"You're wearing papaya lip gloss, aren't you?"

"How did you—"

"I can taste it." His face turned pink. "From when you splashed me. Just now. Not from... you know."

We stared at each other. The pool noise faded to background noise.

"It's actually kind of terrible," I said.

"Yeah," he agreed, still not letting go of my waist. "But I think I'm into it."

Later, Lena would demand details. I'd spend forty minutes conditioning my hair. But right then, treading water with Jake's hands still warm on my skin, I thought maybe running wasn't the only thing I was good at.

Maybe I could swim in the deep end, too.