Poolside Apocalypse

Six AM practice. That's when you officially turn into a zombie, according to Maya, who was currently floating on her back like a dead fish in the lane next to mine.

"I'm literally deceased," she groaned, goggles pushed up on her forehead. "My limbs have detached from my body. I am a loose collection of bones and regret."

"You said that yesterday," I reminded her, treading water at the wall. Coach Miller's whistle had finally blessedly stopped shrieking.

"Yesterday I was ALIVE, Jordan. Today I'm undead. There's a difference."

I laughed, even though my arms felt like they'd been replaced by wet noodles. Three weeks of summer swim camp, and I was still trying to prove I deserved my spot on the varsity team next year. Meanwhile, Maya—whose family had basically owned the neighborhood pool since the Paleozoic era—treated practice like a social hour with occasional cardio.

The real problem wasn't the swimming. It was Tyler.

Tyler Chen, who had somehow graduated from awkward freshman to swole sophomore between June and July, who now did butterfly warmups with his shirt off because he CLEARLY knew what he was doing. Tyler, who I'd had a massive crush on since seventh grade, was currently three lanes over, his arms cutting through the water like they were designed for it.

"You're staring again," Maya whispered. "It's creepy. Stop."

"I'm not staring. I'm... observing his technique. For athletic purposes."

"Mhm. Sure. Whatever helps you sleep at night, bestie."

I dove underwater to hide my flaming cheeks. The cool water rushed over my skin, and for a second, everything was muffled and peaceful. No social anxiety. No awkward conversations. Just the rhythm of my own breathing and the blur of blue tiles beneath me.

When I surfaced, Coach Miller was holding up a clipboard. "Alright, zombies! Listen up! District meet is in two weeks. Some of you need to get your heads in the game. Others—" he eyed Maya pointedly "—need to stop treating warmups like gossip hour."

"Coach," Maya called out, all innocence. "Is hydration part of the training plan? Because I'm pretty sure I need a vitamin water immediately or I will perish."

"Maya,"

"Okay, okay. Serious mode activated."

After practice, I was rummaging through my bag when a shadow fell over me. Tyler. Of course. He was dripping wet, towel-drying his hair, and I was sitting there in my ancient swimsuit with chlorine everywhere and—why did the universe hate me?

"Hey, Jordan," he said. "You looked good today."

My brain short-circuited. "What? I mean—thanks? I mean—I was dead?"

Why. WHY did I say that.

Tyler laughed, and it was this actual genuine sound, not his usual cool-guy chuckle. "Yeah, Miller works us hard. But your freestyle's gotten way better since last month."

I stood there, clutching my water bottle like it was a lifeline. "Thanks. I've been... working on it?"

"Cool." He shifted his weight. "So, there's this party at Jenna's on Friday. After the meet. You going?"

Wait.

WAIT.

"I think so?"

"Cool," he said again. "Save me a dance? Or whatever. I mean—if you want."

He walked away before I could respond, leaving me standing there like an actual zombie, mouth slightly open, heart doing something concerning in my chest.

Maya appeared behind me. "Did he just—"

"I think so?"

"Oh my GOD." She grabbed my shoulders. "Jordan. You need vitamins. You need hydration. You need to CALM YOURSELF because you just got asked to a PARTY by TYLER CHEN."

I looked at the shimmering pool water, at the early morning sun turning everything gold. Something about this summer felt different. Something about me felt different.

"Yeah," I said, finally letting myself grin. "Yeah, I guess I did."

Being a zombie wasn't so bad if it meant getting the guy in the end.