Pool Party Apocalypse

Maya's hair was supposed to be beach waves. Instead, she looked like she'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. The stylist had called it "texturizing," but Maya's reflection screamed electric shock victim.

"You ready?" her mom called from downstairs.

Maya stared at her iPhone, thumb hovering over Maya's group chat. *Sorry, can't make it!* she could type. Or fake sick. Or just

I've never been one to quit. But Tyler's pool party? The social equivalent of walking into school wearing pajama pants.

Her hair frizzed outward like a startled pufferfish. Three months she'd waited for Tyler to finally notice her, and now THIS?

The front door slammed. Her ride was here.

Maya's phone buzzed: *where u at? everyone's in the pool*

She grabbed her oversized beach towel—a tactical shield against humanity—and marched outside like she was facing a firing squad.

The party was exactly what she'd dreaded. Tyler shirtless by the deep end (okay, worth the anxiety). Cheerleaders forming synchronized laughing circles. Jordan from her history class playing what looked like a zombie apocalypse game on his phone instead of, you know, actually swimming.

"Hey!" Tyler waved. "You coming in?"

Every pair of eyes turned toward her.

Maya's brain went full zombie mode—vacant stare, zero thoughts, survival instinct only. But then Jordan looked up from his phone, water dripping from his messy hair (also frizzy, also perfect, unfair), and said, "Finally, someone else who knows how to make an entrance. I've been pretending to text for twenty minutes."

He held up his phone. "Want to help me survive level 47? The zombies are winning."

Maya's shoulders dropped two inches. "You're not swimming?"

"Nah. Chlorine dries out my hair."

He pointed at her towel with a grin that was definitely not fake. "You joining the resistance or what?"

The pool sparkled behind them. Tyler had already moved on to some swimming race with the varsity guys. The cheerleaders were taking selfies. And here she was, sitting on the edge with Jordan, passing his iPhone back and forth, planning their zombie defense strategy like actual generals.

"Your hair," Jordan said, without taking his eyes from the screen, "it's got personality."

Maya laughed—a real one. "That's one way to put it."

"It's cool," he shrugged. "Like you're not even trying to fit the mold."

She watched Tyler do a cannonball, sending water everywhere. The perfect mold she'd been so desperate to fill suddenly seemed kind of... basic.

"Yeah," Maya said, selecting a flamethrower for her character. "I guess I'm not."