Poolside Papaya

The problem with pool parties is that someone always ends up in the **water** wearing clothes they weren't supposed to. This time, that someone was me.

I hadn't even wanted to come. Maya's texts had been relentless though—"you HAVE to come," "Jordan's gonna be there," "don't be weird and flake." So here I was, standing awkwardly by the snack table while people I'd known since middle school splashed around like they were in a music video.

"You gonna eat that whole thing?"

I jumped. Jordan was standing next to me, reaching past me toward the fruit platter. My brain short-circuited. This was Jordan. The Jordan. The one whose stories I'd been accidentally liking on Instagram at 2 AM for months.

"Uh, no?" I managed. "You want... the **papaya**?"

"Love that stuff," they said, popping a slice into their mouth. "My abuela used to grow it in her backyard. Before she moved, obviously."

"Oh that's actually really—"

"YO JORDAN!" Someone screamed from the pool. "TRUTH OR DARE!"

Jordan rolled their eyes but started walking toward the pool deck. "Coming!"

I stood there paralyzed. Do I follow? Do I stay here and aggressively eat fruit? Do I fake a phone emergency?

"You coming or what?" Jordan looked back.

My legs moved before my brain could register the mistake.

The game had been going for approximately thirty seconds when it happened. Marcus, who'd been demonstrating his cannonball technique for way too long, somehow managed to kick a massive wave of chlorinated **water** directly into my face. I stumbled backward, arms windmilling, and in a move that would live in infamy among our graduating class, knocked over Maya's mom's prize-winning centerpiece.

The fishbowl shattered.

Three very confused **goldfish** flopped onto the pool deck.

Someone screamed. Someone else laughed. And I—soaked, humiliated, and currently responsible for a fish rescue operation—caught Jordan's eye. They were doubled over, laughing so hard they were crying.

"You okay?" they gasped between laughs.

I looked at the fish. At my soaked clothes. At Jordan, still smiling, still here, not looking at me like I was a total loser.

"Actually," I said, "yeah. Yeah, I think I am."

Jordan helped me scoop the goldfish into a temporary cup (Maya's mom would never know, we decided). We spent the rest of the party sitting on the pool edge, feet in the water, talking about everything and nothing. I even tried the papaya. It wasn't terrible.

Sometimes the worst moments become the best stories. And sometimes you have to literally ruin everything to realize you don't have to try so hard. Some things—like certain people, or unexpectedly good fruit—are worth making a fool of yourself for.