Poolside Pyramids

The water in the Pattersons' pool shimmered like liquid diamonds, and I stood at the edge wearing my thrift-store swimsuit while calculating the social geometry of Tyler's massive graduation party. Everyone knew the high school hierarchy operated like a pyramid, with Tyler and his varsity baseball teammates at the apex, and me—a band kid with questionable fashion sense—lurking somewhere near the foundation.

"Hey, you gonna stand there all day or actually swim?" Mia called from the pool ladder, flipping wet hair over her shoulder like she'd practiced it in front of a mirror. Which she probably had.

I shrugged, trying to look casual instead of terrified. "Just enjoying the view."

Truth was, I'd been crushing on Mia since seventh period English, when she'd laughed at my terrible pun about metaphors. Now here she was, two feet away, wearing a bikini that made my brain short-circuit.

The baseball team had formed a human pyramid in the deep end, Tyler at the top with his arms raised like some conquering hero. They kept collapsing into laughter and splashes, each attempt more disastrous than the last. It was ridiculous and juvenile and somehow….

"Watch this!" Tyler shouted, then face-planted into the water, sending a massive wave toward us.

Mia laughed, and the sound was better than any concert I'd ever attended. "Wanna bet they can't get more than three layers high?"

"Five bucks says Tyler breaks something first," I replied without thinking.

Her grin widened. "You're on, Band Camp."

We sat through three failed pyramids and two near-drownings, talking about everything and nothing—her fear of goldfish after one bit her finger at a carnival (I didn't know goldfish could bite?), my dream of becoming a sound engineer instead of taking over my dad's insurance business, how Tyler's ego barely fit inside his baseball cap.

Somewhere between the fourth pyramid attempt and me accidentally cannonballing directly beside her (smooth move, genius), our knees touched underwater. Electric. Like, literally static-shock electric, or maybe I was just hyper-aware of every millimeter of contact.

"You know," Mia said, water droplets sliding down her arms like they couldn't bear to leave, "you're actually kind of funny."

"Kind of?"

"Okay, really funny. For someone whose fashion sense screams 'I got dressed in the dark during a tornado.'"

I laughed, and it wasn't fake or nervous. For the first time all night, the pyramid didn't seem so steep. The baseball jocks were still being idiots, the popular crowd still clustered in their exclusive orbit, but I was sitting next to Mia Carter, and she thought I was funny.

She pulled a tiny goldfish cracker from the snack mix someone had abandoned on a poolside table and held it up like a treasure. "I hereby dub you Knight of the Social Pyramid, for valor in the face of extreme awkwardness."

I took the soggy cracker and ate it without hesitation. "I'll take it."