Poolside Panic

My first mistake was agreeing to go to Tyler's pool party. My second mistake was wearing my lucky baseball jersey—practically begging for someone to spill soda on it. I'm barely inside the gate when Jordan spots me.

"Yo! Finally!" He waves me over like I'm not already sweating through my shirt. "We need a fourth for baseball tomorrow. You in?"

"Uh—"

"Perfect. He's in!" Jordan announces to everyone, and suddenly I'm committed.

I spend twenty minutes pretending to check my phone, lurking near the snack table. That's when I see Her. Maya. She's sitting by the pool, legs dangling in the water, laughing at something Tyler said. My chest does this weird fluttery thing that's definitely not related to the three bags of chips I inhaled.

Then it happens. Mrs. Henderson's cat—a sleek black nightmare named Midnight—streaks past, yowling like it's being murdered.

"NO! MIDNIGHT!" I'm already running, my sneakers gripping the concrete, everything else forgotten. The cat bolts toward the pool equipment area, and I follow because apparently I'm now that person who chases cats at parties.

I skid around the corner, hand outreached, and catch—nothing. But I DO catch the thick **cable** wire strung across the ground at shin level. My momentum carries me forward in what's definitely NOT a graceful dive. I splash into the pool's shallow end with a magnificent belly-flop that would make any gymnast weep.

Silence. Then laughter. The kind where people can't breathe. I surface, sputtering, to find Maya literally doubled over, tears streaming down her face.

"That was..." she gasps, "the BEST thing I've ever seen."

My face burns hotter than the summer sun. I start pulling myself out of the pool, drenched and doomed, when Maya slides over on her knees and extends a hand.

"I'm Maya," she says, grinning like I just performed for her amusement.

"Marcus," I manage, dripping pool water onto the concrete. "And that was... actually not my worst moment today."

"Really?" Her eyebrows shoot up. "What happened to your jersey?"

"Long story involving cherry slushie and a failed attempt at looking cool."

Her laugh is real this time—not at me, with me. "Well," she says, "at least you saved me from having to talk to Tyler for another hour."

I don't know whether to thank the cat or curse it. But as Maya hands me a towel and asks if I'm still playing baseball tomorrow, I figure I'll call it a win.