Poolside Reconnaissance

My palms were sweating, which was exactly the opposite of what you want when you're about to casually lean against a pool fence like you do this every day.

"You good?" Marcus asked, flicking his baseball cap backward. He'd already ditched his shirt, because Marcus was the kind of comfortable in his skin that most of us wouldn't achieve until our thirties. If ever.

"I'm on a mission," I said, which was technically true but also made me sound like a total dork. Which I was.

The mission: spy on Maya from enough distance that I wouldn't seem creepy, but close enough to actually maybe finally talk to her. We'd been in homeroom together for three years, and the most I'd ever managed was "hey" and that one time I accidentally made eye contact for four consecutive seconds and almost forgot how lungs work.

"You're not spy material, Zoe. You're the person who trips in the hallway and laughs so loud everyone looks."

"That's called charm, Marcus. It's a whole vibe."

He snorted.

Maya was by the deep end, her hair wet and slicked back from a recent swim. She looked effortless in a way that felt unfair. Meanwhile, I'd spent forty-five minutes this morning deciding between two practically identical tank tops and five agonizing minutes arranging my hair so it would look casually messy instead of actually messy.

Now she was laughing at something Jordan said, tilting her head back, and my stomach did that terrible fluttery thing that definitely wasn't related to the two slices of pizza I'd inhaled earlier.

"Go talk to her," Marcus said, pushing my shoulder.

"I can't just— what would I even—"

"Hey, nice weather we're having? Want to discuss the economic implications of high school? Zoe, she's a person, not a final exam."

Maya looked over then, caught me staring, and I froze like I'd forgotten every social skill I'd ever learned. But then she smiled and waved, and I waved back like I was conducting an invisible orchestra.

"You're hopeless," Marcus said, but he was grinning.

"She waved at me."

"She waves at everyone. She waved at the mailman yesterday."

"Shut up, Marcus."

I took a breath, wiped my sweaty palms on my shorts, and started toward her. Three steps in, my brain caught up with my body and started listing all the ways this could go wrong. But I kept walking. Sometimes the scariest part isn't the falling—it's the moment right before you jump.

And I'd been standing on the edge long enough.