Poolside Protocol

Moving to North Carolina two weeks before junior year was basically a social death sentence. I'd spent the first week doom-scrolling through everyone's Instagram stories, feeling like a total creep while trying to memorize names and friend groups. My mom called it 'doing research.' I called it being a loner with too much time on my hands.

Then Jenna from down the street invited me to her pool party. 'Just bring yourself,' she'd said, casual as anything, while I was internally spiraling about what to wear and whether bringing snacks would make me look desperate.

The backyard was already packed when I arrived. People lounging on floaties in the pool, music thumping from portable speakers, someone doing a cannonball off the diving board. I stood near the fence, clutching my phone like a lifeline, acutely aware that everyone seemed to know exactly where they fit except me.

That's when I spotted Maya—Jenna's cousin who'd moved here last year. She was perched on the pool edge, legs in the water, scrolling through her phone with that same I'm-observing-because-I'm-awkward energy I recognized from my own mirror. We made eye contact, and she gave me this tiny, knowing nod.

'Spying on the natives?' she asked as I awkwardly approached.

'Pretty sure I'm the native here,' I joked back. 'You've been here longer.'

She splashed some water at me. 'Touché. Come sit. The water's actually not freezing for once.'

We spent the next hour dissecting everyone's friend drama, ranking snacks, and complaining about how terrible high school cafeteria politics are everywhere. Turns out, she'd done the exact same Instagram reconnaissance thing when she first moved.

'You realize,' she said, 'we could've been friends last year if I hadn't been so busy trying to be cool and fit in.'

'Well,' I said, 'you're making up for it now.'

She grinned. 'I'm Maya, by the way. Official friend status activated.'

Sometimes the best things happen when you stop spying from the sidelines and actually jump in the water. Even if the water is metaphorical and you're definitely not ready.