Poolside Operations

Marcus adjusted his snapback for the third time, leaning against the garage like he belonged there. He wasn't technically crashing Jordan's pool party — she'd posted the invite on her Instagram Story, and he'd just happened to be scrolling past at the exact right moment. That's what he told himself anyway, even though it felt more like he'd been playing spy since she'd moved here three months ago. Following her posts. Timing his bathroom breaks to match hers between classes.

Inside the backyard fence, laughter echoed over the splashing. Someone dove into the pool with a cannonball splash that sent water flying over the concrete. Marcus's heart did this stupid flutter thing every time he heard her laugh through the fence — that melodic sound that made everything else sound like garbage.

"You gonna stand there all day or actually go in?"

Marcus nearly jumped out of his skin. Jordan's golden retriever, Buster, had appeared through a gap in the fence boards, tail wagging like a metronome on overtime. The dog nosed his hand, demanding attention like they were already best friends. "You're not gonna tell on me, are you?"

Buster just licked his palm, leaving a wet stripe that made Marcus wipe his hand on his jeans. Great. Now he was sweaty AND had dog slobber on his favorite jeans. This was already going sideways.

"Yo, Marcus!" Jordan appeared through the fence gate, towel-drying her hair. She was wearing this blue bikini that made his brain short-circuit. "I was wondering when you'd show up. Come on, everyone's in the pool."

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward the party. Her skin was warm from the sun, and suddenly Marcus was running to keep up, not because he wanted to but because his legs had apparently stopped listening to his brain. He'd practiced this moment in front of his mirror like a hundred times, planned exactly what to say, and now all those smooth lines had evaporated.

"I, uh —"

"Don't even trip," she said, reading his mind like she always did. "Tyler's just giving everyone a hard time tonight. You know how he gets. Just another bull in the china shop."

Marcus followed her gaze to where Tyler Jordan — her older brother's friend, the one who'd made freshman year miserable — was currently dunking some kid underwater while everyone laughed. Marcus's stomach did this uncomfortable twist thing. Tyler was exactly the kind of guy who'd make fun of him for not knowing how to swim properly, for being the quiet kid, for everything.

But then Jordan was pulling him toward the pool's edge, and her hand was still on his wrist, and Buster was circling them both like he'd officially adopted Marcus into the family, and suddenly none of that other stuff mattered.

"Race you to the other side," she challenged, already wading in. "Loser has to talk to me for real this time, no more Insta-stalking."

Marcus froze. She knew. She'd known the whole time.

"Unless you're scared," she added with this wicked grin that made his chest feel tight.

"I'm not scared," he heard himself say, and then he was splashing into the cool water after her, leaving behind the spy games and the overthinking and the version of himself who watched from the sidelines. For once, Marcus was all in — literally and figuratively — and he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt this alive.