Poolside Secrets

I sat on the pool edge, kicking my legs in the water while pretending to check my phone. In reality, I was basically a spy on a covert mission, gathering intel without raising suspicion. My target sat three rows down, laughing at something Jordan said—probably another terrible joke about his math teacher.

What did Jordan have that I didn't? Besides confidence, obviously.

"Earth to Maya," Chloe said, snapping her fingers near my face. "You've been staring at your vitamin water for five minutes straight."

I flinched. "It's electrolytes." I unscrewed the cap—my third bottle of the day. My mom had started me on this new wellness routine, which mostly meant I was constantly hydrated and slightly nauseous.

"Sure," Chloe said.

At the opposite end of the pool, Coach Miller's voice echoed. "Alright everyone, last set before the meet Saturday."

My stomach dropped. The district swim meet. Where Jordan would probably dominate in the breaststroke while I struggled not to drown during warmups. Where everyone would watch.

Great.

"You good?" Chloe asked.

"Fine."

I wasn't. The summer was slipping away, and I was still the same girl who'd joined swim team because her crush had mentioned it once freshman year—before realizing he'd graduated and moved to college.

"What's that?" Chloe pointed.

On the pool deck, someone had arranged kickboards in this weird formation. Three rectangles forming a triangle, with a fourth balanced precariously on top.

"Looks like the Great Pyramid of Giza's cousin."

The older guys on swim team had this tradition—before big meets, they'd build these random sculptures from pool equipment as good luck charms. Last month they'd made a boot out of flutterboards.

"Last time I checked, the Great Sphinx of Giza was a lion with a human head," I said. "Not a bunch of kickboards that smell like mildew."

Chloe grinned. "Same energy."

Coach Miller blew the whistle. "Everyone in."

I slid into the cool water, grateful for the sudden submersion. At least underwater, nobody could see me overthink everything.

Back at home, my sister's cat twined around my ankles, meowing demanding yowls about dinner.

"You're so dramatic," I said, filling his bowl.

He purred. At least someone appreciated my efforts.

On my phone, a notification from Jordan: "Good luck Saturday."

My thumb hovered over the screen. This was it—the moment to respond with something cool and confident. Not "Thanks!!!" with three exclamation marks. Not "OMG so nervous lol."

Just something casual. Something smooth.

I took a breath. Typing. Retyping. Deleting.

The cat watched with judgment in his green eyes.

"What would you do?" I asked him.

He licked his paw and ignored me completely.

Fair.

The notification light blinked, and my heart did that stupid fluttery thing. Saturday would be fine. Everything would be fine. Probably.