Pool Party PTSD

The chlorine-scented air hit Maya before she even stepped through the gate. Jordan's End-of-Summer Blowout was already in full swing—music thumping, people cannonballing into the **water**, someone doing that annoying TikTok dance on the deck. Maya smoothed her dress, suddenly hyper-aware of how her naturally curly **hair** had frizzed in the humidity despite three different products.

"Maya! Finally!" Jordan materialized, holding up a small plastic bag containing a miserable-looking **goldfish**. "Won it from Liam. Want him?"

"Congrats on... whatever that is," Maya said, trying to sound normal around her crush. She scanned the food table desperately—anything to avoid awkward eye contact. Piled high on a paper plate sat the saddest vegetable arrangement ever, including way too much **spinach** that looked like it had seen better days.

"You good?" Jordan asked, suddenly way too close. "You look like you're about to bear witness to a crime."

Maya's brain short-circuited. "I can't **bear** parties. Too many people. Too much... existing."

Jordan laughed, actually laughed, and it wasn't mean. "Same. I only did this because my mom said I needed 'socialization' or whatever. Want to bail?"

They ended up sitting on the garage roof, sharing stolen soda and watching the party rage below them. Maya explained her theory about how pool parties were basically social experiments designed to expose everyone's insecurities. Jordan admitted they'd had a crush on Maya since seventh-grade science lab.

"Wait, really?"

"Yes, really. I was about to lose it when you showed up looking all cute with that hair."

Maya grinned so hard her face hurt. Maybe parties weren't so terrible after all.