Poolside Physics

The water shimmered like liquid diamond, and somewhere behind me, Maya's voice cut through the humidity like windshield wipers on a dusty car.

"You're overthinking it again."

I gripped my phone tighter—my iphone, my lifeline, my third arm practically—and stared at the text I'd typed and deleted twelve times. *Hey, want to hang out?* Too casual. *I like you.* Too forward. *Your hair looked good today.* Too creepy.

"I'm not overthinking," I lied. "I'm strategizing."

Maya rolled her eyes so hard I practically heard it. She was my oldest friend, the one who'd witnessed my devastating braces phase and that time I cried because my goldfish died, and she never let me forget either. "You're paralyzed. Look at you. It's a pool party, not a deposition."

She pointed at the bluetooth speaker someone had set up near the lounge chairs. The charging cable snaked through the grass like a black vine, and suddenly the music cut out mid-chorus. Someone—probably Tyler—had tripped over it.

"Classic," I muttered, grateful for the distraction.

But then Jack was walking toward us, and my stomach performed that familiar Olympic gymnast routine, and I suddenly couldn't remember how to stand or what my arms were supposed to do or why humans ever interacted at all.

He was eating an orange. Just peeling it, right there by the pool, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Juice dripped down his wrist and he didn't even care. He caught me looking and—

"Want some?" He held out a segment. "It's actually good. My mom gets them from this farm stand..."

"Sure," I said, like I had coordinated motor skills.

Maya made a sound that was absolutely a suppressed laugh, but I didn't care because Jack was smiling and his eyes had these tiny crinkles and the orange was perfect—sweet and tart and somehow the most delicious thing I'd ever tasted because Jack had handed it to me.

"The cable's dead," someone announced. "Speaker's out."

"I've got a portable charger in my bag," I heard myself say. "Inside. I can go grab it."

"You're a lifesaver," Jack said, and the way he looked at me—like I was actually helpful, not just the awkward girl in the corner—made something warm bloom in my chest that had nothing to do with the July heat.

As I walked toward the house, I typed the text and hit send before I could overthink it again: *thanks for the orange*.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Behind me, Maya mouthed "told you" from her lounge chair, and I realized some things—like first kisses and real conversations and whatever was starting here—couldn't be planned out. You just had to dive in.