Poolside Hieroglyphs

The invite to Jordan's pool party sat heavy in my pocket like a secret weapon. Jordan, whose Instagram basically documented every moment of existing at the top of Miller High's social pyramid. Me? I was somewhere in the basement, possibly the sub-basement, definitely not on anyone's invite list usually.

"You going?" asked Maya, my best friend since sixth grade, when we found ourselves stuck behind the same guy who apparently didn't know what a left turn signal was for.

"Got invited," I said, trying to sound casual about it while internally freaking out. "Should I?"

"Dude. Yes. The social pyramid is literally crumbling without you in it." She was being sarcastic but still.

The thing about Jordan's parties was they operated like some ancient civilization. There were rules. Unspoken ones. I'd spent enough time metaphorically spying from the sidelines to know: popular kids claimed the deep end, wannabes hovered near the snacks, and everyone else just tried not to embarrass themselves.

I showed up wearing my good swimsuit — the one without the slightly loose waistband — and immediately felt out of place. The pool glittered turquoise under string lights, and everywhere I looked, people were performing their social roles like they'd rehearsed them.

Then I saw HER. Chloe. Also known as my crush since freshman year. Also known as the human equivalent of a papaya in a world of apples — exotic, slightly intimidating, and I had no idea how to approach her.

She was sitting alone on a lounge chair, eating actual papaya from a fancy bowl. Because of course Jordan served exotic fruit at his pool parties.

My brain short-circuited. I could either hide in the bathroom like a coward or do something.

I grabbed a papaya slice from the food table because I'm an idiot who makes decisions with my stomach.

"Is it good?" I asked, sliding into the lounge chair beside her like I wasn't internally screaming.

She looked up, eyes widening slightly. "It's actually kinda gross. I just didn't want to stand by the pool alone."

"Same. Same about everything, actually."

She laughed. Not the polite laugh I was expecting, but a real one. And for the next hour, we sat there eating papaya that tasted like confused tropical sunshine while people-watching and making up backstories for everyone.

"That's Tyler," she said, pointing at a guy doing a cannonball. "I bet his secret hobby is knitting tiny sweaters for his chinchilla."

"And that's Jessica," I countered. "Definitely runs an anonymous Twitter account that reviews school cafeteria food."

By the time I left, my social pyramid status hadn't changed at all. But I had Chloe's number, a new appreciation for papaya, and the realization that maybe the coolest people aren't at the top of anything.

Sometimes you just gotta dive into the deep end. Even if you can't really swim that well.