Poolside Recon

My hair was doing that thing where it looked good in my bedroom mirror but somehow betrayed me the second I stepped outside. Great. Just what I needed for day one of swim camp.

I'd spent all morning trying to convince myself I wasn't totally out of my depth here—literally and figuratively. The other kids had been on the summer league team since they were like six. I was the new girl who'd somehow convinced my mom that switching from soccer to swimming would be "a fresh start."

Fresh start. More like fresh zombie. Between tryouts and school ending, I'd been running on three hours of sleep and anxiety.

"Hey, you're Maya, right?" This girl with perfect chlorine-green hair slid into the lane next to me. "I'm Jade. Don't mind Coach Miller—he's kind of a bull in the water, but he's actually chill once you get used to him."

"Chill" was not the word I'd use for someone who'd already made us swim twenty laps without a break.

But then something weird happened. Between the breaths and the burning muscles, I started noticing things. The way Jade's stroke pattern changed when she thought no one was watching. How the team captain kept sneaking glances at the clock even though she pretended not to care. How three different people had their phones locked but kept checking them like they were waiting for something.

Old habits die hard, I guess. My little brother called me a spy because I noticed everything. Turns out, when you're the new kid who's terrified of saying the wrong thing, observing becomes a survival strategy.

By the end of practice, I'd pieced together: The captain was worried about making state qualifiers (obviously), Jade had a crush on someone's boyfriend (possibly the captain's? drama incoming), and everyone was group-chatting about some party Friday that I was definitely not invited to.

"You're quiet," Jade said later, as we sat on the pool edge with our legs in the water. "But you notice stuff."

I shrugged. "Occupational hazard."

"Well," she said, grinning, "if you're gonna spy on us, at least make it useful. My phone's in my bag—tell me if Jake texted back yet."

I laughed. Actually laughed. Maybe this fresh start thing wasn't completely zombie-fied after all. Maybe I'd found my people—even if I had to be the world's worst spy to do it.