Poolside Curveball

The air smelled like chlorine and sunscreen, that specific summer combination that meant you were about to do something either incredibly brave or incredibly stupid. Maya stood at the edge of the Hendersons' pool, clutching her towel like a lifeline, while the baseball team lounged on the patio furniture like they owned everything within a fifty-mile radius. Including, unfortunately, her ability to form coherent sentences.

"You gonna swim or just stand there looking like you're calculating the physics of water displacement?" Jordan called out. The pitcher. The one with the smile that made her forget what year it was.

"I'm assessing the situation," Maya shot back, which was exactly the kind of thing someone says when they're definitely not assessing anything except how quickly they could hypothetically escape through the back fence.

"Baseball," she said, trying to pivot. "You guys have that tournament tomorrow, right? The one against Central?"

Jordan slid off his chair and walked toward the pool, grinning. "Wow, you actually listen when I talk. That's new. Most people just nod and wait for their turn to speak."

Maya's face burned. She blamed the sun. Definitely the sun.

"I listen," she said, but it came out weirdly defensive, like she was a lawyer arguing a case instead of a teenager in a swimsuit she'd bought three sizes too big because she'd been growth-spurt optimistic.

"So." Jordan stopped at the pool's edge, close enough that she could see the tiny freckles across his nose. "You coming in, or what? The water's actually decent for once. Mr. Henderson finally fixed the heater."

This was it. The moment. Either she got in the pool and possibly made a total fool of herself, or she stayed out and definitely regretted it for the rest of her natural life. Her brain presented her with a detailed PowerPoint of all the ways this could go wrong — slipping, splashing weirdly, existing while being awkward — but then Jordan did this thing where he tilted his head and smiled crooked, and suddenly she was kicking off her flip-flops and jumping in before she could talk herself out of it.

The water swallowed her whole, cold and shocking and perfect. When she broke the surface, wiping chlorine from her eyes, Jordan was laughing. Not mean laughing. The other kind.

"What?" she demanded. "I didn't slip."

"No," he said, splashing water at her. "You just looked like you were preparing for battle instead of a pool party. It's refreshing. Most people try too hard."

"I don't try at all," Maya said, which was maybe the biggest lie she'd ever told. "I'm just naturally catastrophic. It's my brand."

"Yeah, well." Jordan swam closer, treading water. "I like your brand. Also, you should come to the baseball game tomorrow. Since you're apparently listening to everything I say anyway."