Poolside Spy Games

The orange pool float bobbed in the corner like a lonely planet, its brilliant peel-color screaming for attention nobody would give it. I sat on the deck chair, phone in hand, doing my best impression of someone who was totally chill and not at all having an internal crisis.

"You look like you're spying on the enemy," Maya said, dropping onto the chair beside me and handing over a lukewarm water bottle. "Which one of them is your target?"

"I'm not spying," I lied, sliding my phone into my pocket. "I'm just... observing. There's a difference."

"Uh-huh." Maya cracked open a soda. "You've been 'observing' Jake for like, twenty minutes. He's not gonna magically notice you if you don't actually talk to him, you know."

I'd been crushing on Jake since last semester, when we'd been lab partners and he'd drawn a little dog on my chem worksheet after I'd bombed a test. The drawing had been terrible — like, truly awful — but he'd written "this is you, but cooler" next to it, and I'd been done for.

The pool party had seemed like the perfect opportunity to finally make a move. Instead, I'd spent the past hour fake-scrolling through Instagram while sneaking glances at Jake, who was currently showing everyone his "sick cannonball" technique for the third time.

Then Jake's Golden retriever, Buster, came barreling out of nowhere and launched himself straight at the orange float. Claw teeth met inflatable plastic in a collision of chaos. The float let out this tragic hissing sound as it slowly deflated, while Buster stood there looking ridiculously proud of himself.

Jake rushed over, dripping wet, frantically trying to save what was left of the float. "Buster, no! That was my sister's!"

Everyone was watching now. This was it. The moment. Either I sat there like a coward while Jake dealt with his dog's destruction, or I actually did something.

I stood up, grabbed the garden hose, and aimed it straight at Buster. The dog went nuts — water everywhere, Jake laughing so hard he almost fell into the pool, the orange float lying defeated like a punctured dream.

"Thanks," Jake said, toweling off his hair while Buster shook water all over everyone. "You literally just saved my life."

"Just returning the favor," I said. "Since you made that dog drawing in chem that one time."

His face lit up. "You remember that?"

"Unfortunately," I said, and then Maya was pushing me toward Jake and somehow we were talking, really talking, not just me watching from the sidelines like a creep.

Later, as I sat on the pool edge with Jake, feet dangling in the water while Buster slept nearby, I realized something: being the spy wasn't nearly as fun as actually being part of the story.