Poolside Reconnaissance

The chlorine always hits me first—that sharp chemical smell that basically screams minimum wage. I adjusted my lifeguard whistle, doing my best impression of someone who definitely knew what they were doing. My first week at the Pine Hills Pool, and I was already terrible at it. But nobody was really watching. Except for him.

The baseball team practiced at the field behind the pool fence, and okay, I maybe definitely had developed a "surveillance situation." That's what I called it, anyway. My best friend Maya called it being a literal spy, but honestly, that made it sound way cooler than staring through chain-link while trying to look casual.

"You're not even subtle," Maya had said yesterday, smacking her gum. "He definitely saw you watching him during batting practice."

"I was observing his technique," I'd argued, which was weak and we both knew it.

The problem was Lucas Miller. Shortstop, messy hair, the kind of effortless cute that felt unfair. Sometimes he'd wave between innings, and I'd pretend to be busy doing something very professional and lifeguard-related.

"Hey."

I practically jumped out of the chair. Lucas stood there, still in his baseball uniform, holding something out to me. His eyes were this golden-brown color that I'd definitely never noticed from a distance.

"You dropped this," he said.

My gummy **vitamin**. The cherry one from the bottle I kept in my bag because my mom was convinced sixteen-year-olds still needed daily supplements. I had been mortified when it fell out of my pocket earlier.

"Thanks," I managed, my face burning. "I, um. Those are important. For health reasons."

He laughed. "Yeah, totally. I take them too. Coach is always going on about nutrition." He gestured toward the pool. "So this is your setup?"

"My domain," I said, then immediately wanted to die. Who said domain?

But Lucas just smiled. "Cool. Maybe I'll come by after practice tomorrow. If you're, you know. On duty."

"I'm always on duty," I said, then realized how that sounded. "I mean, during operating hours. Which are posted. On the sign."

He laughed again, backing away. "Noted. See you tomorrow, lifeguard."

I watched him walk back to the field, and okay, maybe my surveillance operation had worked out better than expected. Sometimes being the worst spy in history had its perks.