Poolside Panic

The invitation sat on my nightstand for three days. Chloe's pool party. The ultimate social minefield for someone whose idea of exercise was walking from the couch to the fridge.

"You're going," Riley insisted, stealing my phone. "I'm not letting you miss another one because you're scared."

Riley. My ride-or-die since seventh grade, even when I made it weird.

"I'm not scared," I lied, petting Mochi, my cat, who looked at me with zero respect for my emotional state. "I just... don't like how I look in a bathing suit, okay? Everyone's gonna be all ripped and confident and—"

"And you're popping those hair-skin-nails vitamin gummies like they're candy," Riley pointed out, grabbing the bottle from my desk. "Since when do you care about your nail game?"

I snatched the bottle back. "Since I realized my life is basically one big before picture."

Riley's expression softened. "Leo, literally nobody cares. Except me, because I want you there. Also, my cousin Jay is gonna be there, and—"

"Nope. Not doing setup attempts. We talked about this."

"Worth a shot." Riley flopped onto my bed. "So you're coming? The pool has a diving board. You love jumping off things."

That's how I found myself standing poolside in board shorts that felt way too short, surrounded by people whose bodies were clearly designed by someone who actually enjoyed sports. The air smelled like coconut sunscreen and chlorine.

Then I saw her. Maya. The girl I'd accidentally made eye contact with in the hallway every day since September, and who I still hadn't said more than "hey" to because my brain short-circuited every single time.

She was sitting on the pool edge, legs in the water, laughing at something her friend said. Her hair was wet and she wasn't wearing makeup and she looked—I don't know—real? Not like the filtered version of herself on Instagram.

"Go talk to her," Riley whispered, appearing beside me with suspiciously perfect timing.

"I can't just—what would I even—"

"Ask about her cat. I saw her posting about that calico she rescued last month."

"You stalk her Instagram?"

"I'm thorough. Go."

Before I could overthink it into a panic spiral, Maya looked over and smiled. Not a polite smile. A real one.

"Hey," she said. "You're Leo, right? From English?"

My brain: absolutely empty.

"Yeah," I managed. "Hi."

"Your friend's been trying to get you to come over here for like ten minutes," she laughed. "She's persistent."

I looked back at Riley, who was failing terribly at pretending she wasn't watching.

"That's one word for it."

Maya patted the space beside her. "Sit. The water's actually not terrible once you're in."

So I sat. And somehow we spent the next hour talking about everything—her rescue cat, Mr. Whiskers, who attacked her shoes every morning, my failed attempt at growing tomatoes last summer, why swimming pools are basically just giant bathtubs for strangers.

"You're actually funny," she said, like she was surprised.

"Only when I'm not trying to be."

Later, when Riley drove me home and Mochi finally deigned to accept my affection, my phone buzzed.

Maya: Mr. Whiskers says you should come meet him properly sometime. Also, I still can't believe you don't know how to swim.

Me: I'm more of a jumping-off-things person.

Maya: Noted. See you Monday? 😊

I fell back onto my bed, grinning like an idiot. Riley was right about some things. Maybe most things. And maybe those vitamins were finally working, because for the first time in forever, something actually felt different.