Poolside Sphinx

Maya crouched behind the plastic sphinx statue, her heart hammering like a baseball against a bat. The party was in full swing—literally, since someone had brought a actual bat to hit beach balls into the pool—and she was hiding. Because that's what you do when your hair, which you'd spent forty-five minutes straightening, has decided to rebel and frizz into something resembling a distressed poodle.

"You look ridiculous," she muttered to herself, then accidentally said it to the sphinx. The statue's painted-on enigmatic smile seemed to mock her.

From her vantage point behind the sphinx, she could spy on Luke Garcia. Baseball captain, absurdly hot, currently shirtless by the deep end. Maya had been crushing on him since seventh period English when he'd accidentally read her poetry aloud and called it "actually kind of fire." Now he was laughing with his friends, water droplets sliding down his abs, completely unaware that Maya was currently being a total creep behind a lawn ornament.

"Nice sphinx, right?"

Maya literally jumped. Luke was standing there, dripping wet, holding two sodas. Her brain short-circuited. Was he talking to her? Behind the sphinx? While she was being the world's most awkward spy?

"My dad got it for his 'Egyptian phase' last year," Luke continued, like this was normal conversation. "He was gonna return it, but my mom said it brings 'mystical energy' to the backyard." He cracked a grin. "I think it just looks like it's judging everyone's pool form."

Maya's frizz forgotten, she found herself laughing. "Definitely judging. Especially Tyler's cannonball off the diving board."

"Right? Zero technique." Luke handed her a soda. "You're Maya, right? From English?"

She nodded, unable to form words because THE Luke Garcia knew her name.

"Your hair looks cool," he said, gesturing to her frizz. "Like, actually. My sister's always trying to get her hair to do that natural voluminous thing, and she uses like three products to get nowhere near that level."

Maya blinked. Her hair wasn't a disaster. It was "voluminous." Luke Garcia, baseball god, had just paid her a genuine compliment about the thing she'd been stressing about all day.

"Thanks," she managed, grinning now. "Your form's pretty solid too. For a baseball player."

Luke laughed, and something in Maya's chest loosened. The sphinx's smile seemed less mocking now, more like it was in on the joke. Maybe parties weren't about being perfect. Maybe they were about finding the people who didn't just see your frizz—they saw the volume.

"Wanna help me judge everyone else's pool form?" Luke asked. "From a better spot than behind a statue?"

Maya stood up, hair wild and heart full. "Absolutely."