Pool Party Espionage

The fluorescent plastic sunglasses perched on my forehead—definitely not my idea of cool, but Quinn swore they'd help me blend in at Taylor's end-of-summer pool party. I adjusted the neon pink bucket hat she'd insisted I wear, feeling like a walking glow stick.

"You're not blending," I muttered to myself, hovering near the snack table while everyone else splashed in the water. "You're basically a lighthouse."

I wasn't there for the swimming. I was there for intelligence gathering. My mission: find out if Tyler, the guy I'd been crushing on since seventh grade science, was single. Quinn called it spying. I called it tactical reconnaissance.

The bear of a situation—my older brother, Marcus—had already warned me about "getting weird" at parties. But Marcus was currently cannonballing into the deep end with zero self-awareness, so what did he know?

Then I saw Tyler. Not in the pool. Sitting alone on the patio, scrolling through his phone. My heart did this little skip thing that I tried to ignore.

I approached with what I hoped was casual energy. "Hey, Tyler."

He looked up, and I swear my soul left my body for a second. "Maya! Hey!" Then he gestured to my hat. "Love the look. Very… mysterious."

I laughed, probably too loudly. "It's for sun protection. Strategic."

"Smart." He leaned closer. "Can I tell you something? I hate swimming. Like, everyone's all 'pool party!' and I'm just here for the snacks."

"Same!" I practically shouted. "I mean, I can swim, but the whole performance of it? Exhausting."

Tyler grinned. "Exactly. It's like, why does hanging out have to be competitive?" He paused. "Hey, you're in AP Bio, right? How's that going?"

We talked for twenty minutes about biology teachers, why iced coffee is superior to hot, and how Marcus once tried to teach himself juggling and broke three lamps. Tyler was funny and weird and kept making these little jokes I actually understood.

When his friends called him over for chicken fight, he hesitated.

"I should…" He gestured toward the pool.

"Yeah, go bear those responsibilities," I said, then immediately wanted to die. Who says that?

Tyler laughed though. "Text you later? For, like, actual hanging out? Not tactical reconnaissance?"

My face burned. "You saw that?"

"Maya." He pointed to his own neon sunglasses. "You think you're the only one trying too hard?"

As I watched him walk toward the pool, I realized something: maybe none of us were blending in as much as we thought. And maybe that was okay.

I adjusted my ridiculous hat and grabbed a soda. Tonight hadn't gone according to plan. But somehow, it was better.