Poolside July, Hat Optional

I never thought I'd spend my July standing behind the concession stand at the Glenwood Pool, wearing a faded orange uniform that made me look like a walking traffic cone. But here I was, three weeks into summer break, already regretting my life choices.

"You forgot your vitamin D, genius," Maya said, sliding across the counter with her signature smirk. She'd been working here since freshman year and treated me like the awkward sophomore I definitely was. "Also, your hat is falling off. Again."

I adjusted my staff hat—one of those generic mesh ones that somehow managed to make everyone look like they'd given up on life. "My mom says I need to take actual vitamins if I'm going to be in the sun all day. She's practically a pharmacist now."

"Your mom's a gem," Maya said, already moving on to help someone with a cable-connected speaker system that kept cutting out whenever someone did a cannonball.

That's when I saw him. The new guy, sitting alone by the deep end with his headphones on, completely ignoring everyone. Which was basically social suicide at Glenwood, where the unspoken rule was that you acknowledged people or suffered through awkward small talk.

He wore this beat-up camouflage hat pulled low, like he was trying to disappear. And okay, maybe I was projecting because that's literally what I'd been doing all summer—existing on the periphery, never actually jumping in.

"That's Leo," Maya whispered, appearing beside me like she'd materialized from thin air. "Moved here from Chicago. His sister's the new head lifeguard."

"Why's he wearing headphones poolside?"

"Because people are exhausting, apparently." Maya's eyes sparkled with that scary knowing look. "You should go talk to him."

"Absolutely not."

"Do it, or I tell everyone you still sleep with a stuffed animal."

So I went. Because apparently dignity was negotiable.

"Hey," I said, standing there like an idiot while he slowly pulled off his headphones. "Nice hat."

He stared at me for a second. "It was my dad's. He died last year."

And just like that, I'd cannonballed into the deep end without checking the water first.

"I'm sorry," I said, because what else do you say? "I didn't mean to—"

"No, it's cool." Leo actually smiled, just a little. "I'm Leo."

"Sam."

"Want to sit?" He patted the empty chair beside him. "I promise I'm not usually this depressing."

I sat. And we talked about everything and nothing—about how much the orange fence around the pool hurt your eyes if you stared at it too long, about his sister's overly strict lifeguard rules, about how I'd taken a summer job specifically to avoid talking to people and yet here I was, talking to someone.

Maya gave me a thumbs-up from the concession stand. I flipped her off, which only made her laugh harder.

"So," Leo said, "you ever going to actually swim here?"

"Maybe," I said. "Maybe next summer."

"Next summer?" He raised an eyebrow. "Live a little, Sam. It's just water."

He was right. About the water, about everything. So I took off my uniform hat, set it on the chair, and jumped in—orange uniform and all. Maya's laughter carried across the pool, and for the first time all summer, I didn't feel like I was watching life from the sidelines.

Sometimes the best moments happen when you're not wearing any hat at all.