Poolside Recon Mission

The chlorine smell hit me before I even saw the water. Another Saturday morning, another swim practice I wasn't ready for. My mom had me on this new vitamin regimen—some neon orange gummies she swore would help me "fill out" my frame. Right. Like citrus-flavored candy was gonna fix the fact that I looked like a pipe cleaner compared to the other guys on the team.

Then there was Jordan, gliding through lane three like she was part fish. I'd been low-key spying on her for weeks now—not in a creepy way, just... observing. The way she'd stretch before practice, how she'd chew her lip when her flip turn was sloppy, the tiny victory fist pump when she shaved off a second.

Today Coach Miller announces time trials. My stomach does this full-on gymnastics routine.

"You're not doing this alone," Jordan appears beside me, goggles pushed up on her forehead. "We'll warm up together."

My brain short-circuits. She'd noticed me existing.

We're three laps in when it happens. The pool deck suddenly erupts in chaos—some kid's little sister had apparently decided her stuffed bear needed to "swim" and chucked it right into Jordan's lane during a flip turn.

Jordan surfaces spluttering, clutching this drenched teddy like it's a bomb.

I'm already running over (okay, awkwardly jogging) and help her haul herself out, laughing so hard my sides hurt. The bear's looking tragic, waterlogged fur everywhere, its plastic googly eyes staring into eternity.

"Bernie," she says solemnly, wringing out the bear's ear. "His name is Bernie."

"Bernie the Bear," I repeat, totally losing it.

That's when she hands me the soggy bear and dives back in, smooth as anything. "Hold him hostage. I'll swim my fastest time ever to rescue him."

So I'm standing poolside, clutching a dripping stuffed animal, watching this girl absolutely crush her lap, and I realize two things: first, I'm definitely taking those stupid vitamins from now on because growth spurts can't hurt my chances, and second, Jordan's kinda perfect.

She surfaces, grinning. "Well? How'd I do?"

"Bernie's impressed," I tell her. "But he's gonna need serious rehabilitation."

"Good thing I know a guy," she says, and I'm pretty sure she's winking at me through those fogged-up goggles.

Maybe those vitamins really are magic after all.