Poolside Operations

The humidity in Miami hit different — especially when you're the new kid trying not to be weird at the first pool party of sophomore year. My palms were sweating so much I thought I'd short-circuit my phone. Not ideal when you're supposed to be casually scrolling through cable shows you're definitely not watching because you're too busy pretending not to stare.

"You good?" Marcus asked, side-eyeing me like I'd grown a second head.

"Yeah. Just. You know. Heat."

The pool glittered like someone dumped actual diamonds in it. Everywhere I looked, people were being effortlessly cool — floating on inflatables, blasting music, existing without overthinking every breath. And then there was me, clutching my phone like a lifeline.

Weird thing about rich kids: they had actual padel courts in their backyard. Like, what even was padel? Some tennis-adjacent sport for people who found regular tennis too basic. A group of juniors was playing, and every time someone scored, they'd all do this synchronized yell that felt cult-coded.

"You're being a total spy right now," Marcus pointed out.

"Am not."

"Bro, you've been watching Maya from behind that palm tree for twenty minutes."

Busted.

Maya was laughing with her friends by the deep end, water dripping from her hair like something from a movie. She'd spoken to me exactly once this week — asked to borrow a pencil in AP History. I'd been thinking about it ever since. Pathetic? Maybe. Real? Absolutely.

"Should I... like... talk to her?"

Marcus stared at me like I'd just suggested we fake our own deaths. "Yes? That's kinda how being human works?"

But what do you even say? Hey, remember that pencil? Cool party. Nice water. Wow, you're breathing really impressively.

The air smelled like chlorine and sunscreen and whatever expensive perfume everyone wore that I couldn't pronounce. My heart was doing this thing where it forgot how to rhythm properly.

"You're overthinking," Marcus said, reading my entire existence. "Just go over there. Be normal. It's not rocket science."

Easy for him to say. Marcus had already kissed three people this year. I was still working on maintaining eye contact without feeling like I'd spontaneously combust.

But then Maya looked over. Actually looked. Like, noticed I existed.

She waved.

And just like that, my palms stopped sweating. Maybe this whole high school thing wasn't rocket science after all. Maybe it was just about showing up and being brave enough to say hey.

"Well?" Marcus nudged me. "Go. Before you psych yourself out again."

So I went. Finally.