Poolside Phantom

Riley felt like a straight-up **zombie** at 7 AM, clutching her pool bag like it contained state secrets. Summer swim practice wasn't supposed to start until June, but here she was, standing outside the rec center while most of her grade was still sleeping.

Inside, the pool smelled like chlorine and bad decisions. Her best friend Skylar was already there, goggles pushed up on her forehead like a futuristic headband.

"You look like death," Skylar said, because she's helpful like that.

"Thanks," Riley muttered. "I had to sneak out. My parents think I'm at early **baseball** conditioning."

Technically not a lie—she'd signed up for baseball camp back in April, before the whole swim team revelation. But try explaining to your Mexican mom that you're ditching America's pastime for... water. Just water. Back and forth. For hours.

The real reason she'd gone full **spy** mission this morning sat on the pool deck: Caleb Martinez, who looked unfairly good even in a practice Speedo. He'd moved here from California last month, bringing both perfect hair and rumors that he'd been state champion at his old school.

"Yo, Martinez!" someone yelled from the locker room. "Bet you can't lap the new girl."

Great. So this was happening.

Riley stepped onto the pool deck, her flip-flops slapping against the concrete. She'd grown up afraid of water—like, full-on panic at the deep end of birthday parties. Then came that terrible, wonderful day last summer when she'd accidentally-on-purpose found herself at the community pool and realized she didn't sink. She could actually swim. And for the first time in her life, she didn't feel like the clumsy kid who tripped over her own feet in PE.

"You got this," Skylar whispered, but Riley's focus was already locked on the water.

Caleb popped up from the surface, droplets sliding down arms that were definitely more cut than any sixteen-year-old's had business being. "Hey, you're the baseball girl, right?"

"Former baseball girl," she said, surprised at how steady her voice sounded. "Now I'm just trying not to drown."

His laugh was stupid attractive. "Same. Let's do this."

Coach blew the whistle and they pushed off the wall together.

Riley's body took over. Three months of secret dawn practices at the YMCA had built something she didn't know she had—endurance, power, this rhythm that felt like music she could finally read. Her arms pulled, her legs kicked, and somewhere between lap four and five, she stopped thinking about Caleb or her parents or what anyone would say when they found out she'd quit baseball.

She just swam.

When she touched the wall, gasping, Skylar was practically screaming.

"You beat him! You literally beat him!"

Caleb surfaced beside her, panting but grinning. "Okay, that was actually sick. Where'd you learn to swim like that?"

"Around," Riley said, pulling herself up to sit on the pool edge. "And you're pretty fast yourself. For a Californian."

"Fair." He sat beside her, their shoulders almost touching. "So, baseball to swimming? That's a whole vibe switch."

"Yeah well," she said, watching the water ripple around her legs, "sometimes you gotta take the **bull** by the horns. Or, like, jump into the pool anyway."

"That's not even how that expression goes," he said, but he was smiling.

"I'm working on it," Riley said, and for the first time in a long time, she felt exactly right.