Pool Party Politics

Maya's palms were sweating before she even stepped through the gate. Tyler's summer bash wasn't just a party—it was the social **pyramid** of sophomore year in concentrated form. The popular kids claimed the deep end like territory. The rest of us hovered near the snacks, pretending we weren't calculating our social placement.

"You're overthinking it," Chloe whispered, handing her a slice of **papaya**. "Just act normal."

Normal. Right. Because normal people didn't practice casual conversation in their bathroom mirror.

The **water** shimmered invitingly, but Maya's stomach twisted. She couldn't swim. Not really. Not since that embarrassing incident at camp last summer where she'd panic-flailed her way across the shallow end while everyone watched.

Then she saw him—Caleb, floating on his back with zero anxiety, looking like some golden retriever hybrid. He caught her eye and smiled.

"Hey! You coming in?"

"Maybe later," she managed, throat tight.

"What's up with you two?" Chloe asked, suddenly speculative. "You're being weird about each other."

"Nothing's up."

"You're such a **fox** about it too," Chloe rolled her eyes. "Playing coy while he's obviously lowkey obsessed."

The papaya tasted suddenly too sweet, cloying. Maya wasn't playing anything. She was just… existing. Awkwardly.

Then Tyler announced chicken fight. partners. Because of course he did.

Caleb swam over, droplets cascading down his face. "Wanna be my partner?"

"I can't really—"

"Too bad," he grinned, already reaching for her hand. "You're stuck with me now."

He didn't let go. Didn't mock her awkward doggy-paddle. Didn't mention how she practically scrambled onto his shoulders like a frightened cat.

Instead, he laughed with genuine delight as they somehow dominated. His hands steady on her ankles, her fingers tangled in his damp hair, both of them breathless with victory and something else.

Afterward, sitting by the pool with towels wrapped around them, Caleb bumped her shoulder.

"Next time," he said softly, "we'll actually practice first."

Maya's palms weren't sweating anymore.

"Next time," she agreed, and maybe she meant something more than swimming.