Poolside Operations

The neighborhood cat, a calico named Pickles, sat on the fence like she owned the place. Which she kind of did. Pickles had been around longer than the swimming pool, longer than the shiny new house with its too-big windows and the family that was trying too hard.

Maya adjusted her backpack, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: her fraying swimsuit strap, the way her hair refused to behave, the fact that she was technically trespassing. But this was her spot. Had been all summer, since she'd figured out that the McKennas' pool was empty on weekdays between 9 and 3.

"You're late today," a voice said.

Maya nearly jumped out of her skin.

A guy materialized from behind the pool house. Maybe seventeen, messy dark hair, holding — no way — actual binoculars.

"What are you doing?" she asked, because her brain had stopped filtering her thoughts approximately three seconds ago.

He lowered the binoculars, looking weirdly unabashed. "Spying. Obviously."

"On... the neighbors?"

"On the cat. Watch." He pointed at Pickles, who'd hopped down and was padding along the fence. "Every day at 10:47 AM, she walks that exact path. I think she's monitoring the neighborhood. Working out the weaknesses in our security."

Maya stared at him. Then she laughed, because what else was she supposed to do?

"I'm Liam, by the way. Also, you're swimming in my pool."

"Your —"

"My parents'. I'm housesitting. Which means I'm legally required to tell you to leave, but I'd rather not." He gestured to the binoculars. "Wanna help me figure out what Pickles is actually up to?"

"I have a better idea," Maya said, dropping her backpack. "How about we stop spying on the cat and actually get in the pool?"

Liam considered this. "Bold of you to assume I can swim."

"Bold of you to assume I care."

The cat watched, unimpressed, as they spent the next hour proving they were both terrible at swimming but excellent at making each other laugh. Maya learned that Liam was terrible at diving but amazing at impressions. He learned that Maya couldn't tread water to save her life but had a whole conspiracy theory about why the neighborhood ice cream truck only played "Turkey in the Straw" (something about psychological conditioning, she was pretty convincing).

By the time Maya's mom called, demanding to know where she'd been, she had: a new friend, a sunburn, and an invitation to come back tomorrow. Pickles had disappeared somewhere around the time Liam tried to race Maya across the shallow end and they'd both gotten disqualified for excessive splashing.

"Same time tomorrow?" Liam asked from the pool edge, dripping water everywhere.

Maya grinned. "Try 10:46. Pickles will want the full report."