Poolside Panic

The first party of sophomore summer — and I was already sweating through my favorite vintage tee. Jordan's house was ridiculous, complete with an actual padel court in the backyard. I'd never even held a racquet, but there Jordan was, looking effortless in cutoffs and a muscle tee, asking if I wanted to play.

"Sure," I said, like I hadn't spent all morning overanalyzing my outfit choice.

The padel game was a disaster. I missed every serve. Jordan laughed, but nice laughter — the kind that made me want to hear it again. We ended up sitting courtside, talking about nothing and everything while the party swirled around us. For twenty minutes, I forgot about trying to be cool. I just... was.

Then chaos arrived in the form of Buster, Jordan's golden retriever, who apparently had a vendetta against my sneakers. He came barreling out of nowhere, and I scrambled backward — straight into the pool.

Fully clothed. Phone in pocket.

The silence that followed was absolute. I surfaced, soaked and mortified, while everyone stared. Then Jordan jumped in after me, clothes and all.

"Buster has terrible taste in victims," Jordan said, slicking wet hair back. "You okay?"

I started laughing. Couldn't stop. Jordan laughed too, and suddenly we were both treading water in our party clothes, while Buster barked triumphantly from the deck.

Later, wrapped in pool towels with my phone drying in rice, Jordan handed me a warm drink from the outdoor kitchen.

"So," Jordan said, "same time next week?"

Maybe falling in wasn't so bad. Sometimes you have to sink before you figure out how to swim.