Papaya Pool Party Secrets

The baseball slapped against my glove with that satisfying *thwack* sound. Practice ended ten minutes ago, but I was still at the park, pitching to absolutely nobody while trying to clear my head.

"You gonna stand there pitching to ghosts all day, or you gonna admit something's wrong?" Marcus's voice came from behind the backstop. My best friend since fifth grade, the one person I could never lie to.

Except about this.

"I'm fine," I lied, gripping the ball tighter. "Just working on my curveball."

"Bull." Marcus leaned against the fence. "You've been distracted all week. Every time your phone buzzes, you practically jump out of your skin. What's going on?"

I couldn't tell him. I couldn't tell anyone. For the past three weeks, I'd been a total spy—sneaking around, deleting messages, living a double life that would make absolutely zero sense to anyone.

My phone buzzed again. I ignored it.

"Is it about Jordan?" Marcus asked. "Everyone saw you two talking at the pool party last weekend."

The pool party. That's where everything started. Jordan's parents had this fancy setup with a huge pool and papaya trees everywhere. I'd spent half the night hiding in the kitchen, pretending to get more punch while actually texting Jordan's older sister.

"Jordan and I are just friends," I said, which was technically true. "I'm not dealing with any relationship drama."

"Then what?" Marcus walked onto the field. "Bro, you can tell me anything. You know that, right?"

I looked at the baseball in my hand, then at my friend. The truth was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Totally not something a sixteen-year-old guy should be stressing about.

"I'm taking sewing lessons," I blurted out.

Marcus stared at me. "What?"

"Sewing lessons. Jordan's sister teaches this workshop, and I'm learning to make my own clothes because I'm tired of wearing the same boring stuff everyone else has, and she's been helping me design stuff, and I didn't want to tell anyone because I thought people would think it's weird or—"

"That's actually kind of sick," Marcus interrupted. "Can you make me a hoodie?"

I blinked. "Really?"

"Yeah. I've been looking for something unique." He grinned. "And if anyone gives you crap, I'll set them straight. You know I've got your back."

The weight I'd been carrying for weeks lifted. My phone buzzed again—Jordan's sister asking about my next project. This time, I didn't ignore it.

"Thanks, man," I said, finally able to breathe again. "And yeah, I can totally make you a hoodie."

"Awesome." Marcus headed toward the parking lot. "Same time tomorrow? I'll bring my glove."

"You know it." I tossed the baseball in the air and caught it, finally ready to embrace whatever made me different—even if it meant learning to sew at a pool party full of papayas and judgmental teenagers.