Pool Party Fakeout

Maya's phone buzzed with yet another text from Fox—that nickname Lucas earned in seventh grade for being impossibly slippery in conversation. The party started in twenty minutes and she was still staring at her reflection, questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

Her palms were practically dripping. Literal sweat. Gross. She wiped them on her jeans for the third time.

"You're going?" Her little sister's cat, Mr. Whiskers, wound around her ankles like he sensed her anxiety. "Yes, I'm going. Stop judging me."

The Harper house was already packed when she arrived. Kids from school everywhere, music bass thumping through the floorboards. Lucas—Fox—was by the pool, shirtless, surrounded by his usual entourage. Of course he was.

"Maya!" He waved her over like they were best friends. "You made it."

"Yeah. Wouldn't miss it." Her voice came out steadier than she felt.

Somehow she ended up in a conversation about how Jackson had apparently been catfished over summer break. The whole group erupted in laughter while Maya stood there, half-listening, suddenly aware that Lucas's eyes kept finding hers across the circle.

"You swimming?" he asked, gesturing at the pool.

"Maybe later."

"Come on." He splashed water at her.

She ducked, laughing. "You're the worst."

"But you're still here."

The way he said it—like he actually noticed whether she showed up or not—made something flip in her chest. Maybe it was the way his usual Fox evasion tactics dropped for a second. Maybe it was the stupid way her heart picked up speed.

Or maybe it was just realizing that sometimes the people you think are playing games are just as nervous as you are.

"Yeah," she said, finally letting herself smile for real. "I'm still here."

His answering grin was worth every terrified moment of showing up alone.