Poolside Confidential

I was running on three hours of sleep and zero confidence when I spotted Dakota by the pool, looking like they'd been Photoshopped into existence. My phone buzzed — my friends in the group chat, demanding intel. "Are you gonna talk to them or what?"

"I'm not a spy," I typed back, though technically, I kind of was. I'd been strategically positioning myself within earshot of Dakota's lunch table for two weeks, gathering crucial data: they liked strawberry lemonade, they laughed at their own jokes before finishing them, and they had a cat named Pickles who apparently hated them.

"You're literally undercover right now," Jordan had pointed out yesterday when I'd pretended to be deeply interested in a library book I was holding upside down. "This is some FBI-level crush behavior."

Now here I was at Chloe's party, hovering near the snack table like a ghost. The pool shimmered with that late-afternoon golden-hour light, and someone's dog — a chaotic golden retriever named Mochi — was sprinting around the perimeter, barking at splashing water like it had personally offended him.

I watched Dakota cannonball into the deep end, resurfacing with water droplets clinging to their eyelashes like stars. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to stomach.

"You gonna stand there all night?" Chloe appeared beside me, holding two sodas. "Or are you gonna actually talk to the person you've been 'researching' for three weeks?"

My face burned. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh-huh." She handed me a soda. "News flash: Dakota knows you exist. They asked Jordan about you yesterday."

Wait. What?

Before I could process, Mochi came tearing past, shaking pool water everywhere, and slammed into my legs. My phone flew out of my hand, skidding across the deck and stopping at Dakota's feet.

Kill me now.

Dakota picked it up, dripping wet and smiling like they'd just won the lottery. They waded over, pool water making their shirt cling in ways that made my brain short-circuit.

"Yours?" they asked, holding out my phone.

"Yeah, sorry, I —"

"Pickles would hate this party," Dakota said conversationally, like we'd been talking for years. "Too much chaos. He's currently plotting my murder from beneath my bed."

I laughed. Actual words came out. "My dog's not allowed near pools anymore. Last time, he tried to save everyone from drowning. Including people who were standing."

Dakota's smile widened. "We should compare terrible pet stories sometime."

"Sometime" turned into right then, sitting poolside with our legs in the water, while Mochi continued his existential crisis against the splashing. And somewhere, my friends were definitely spy-camming us from Chloe's bedroom window, but honestly? I didn't even care.