Poolside Peripheral

Maya wiped sweat from her forehead, the country club humidity making everything feel underwater. Sixteen and stuck working the snack bar while her classmates spent July living their best lives on the **padel** courts just beyond the glass doors.

From her post, she'd become an expert at the peripheral—spying without staring, catching glimpses of Tyler's laugh when he smashed a ball against the wall, the way Sarah's hair caught the sunlight during breaks. It was lowkey pathetic, this phantom life she curated from stolen moments. Social media didn't help. Every night she'd doom-scroll their Stories, watching a version of summer she wasn't invited to.

"Hey."

Maya jumped. Tyler stood at the counter, padel racquet tucked under his arm like he belonged in a commercial. His eyes had that post-game sparkle, chest still heaving.

"What's good?"

"Everything's... good." Smooth, Maya. Real smooth.

He laughed, and she felt the **water** rising in her chest—this stupid, crushing wave. "You watch us play?"

"No." Too fast. "I mean—sometimes. The acoustics in here are weird, you can hear everything."

"That's why we keep losing. You're distracting us."

He said it casual, but something shifted.

"We're doing a tournament next week," Tyler continued. "Mixed doubles. Our partner bailed. You play?"

"Me? No. I'm not—"

"Not what? Good?"

The question hung there, heavier than the July air.

"I've literally never held a racquet."

"So?" He grinned. "Neither had Sarah until last month. She's undefeated now. Come by tomorrow at six. We'll teach you."

Later, as she watched him walk back to the courts, Maya understood something sudden: the spy glass had been双向的. While she'd been watching them, they'd been watching back.

The pool looked different through the doors. Still blue. Still theirs. But maybe not permanently.

Tomorrow at six, she'd find out.