Salt Water Palms

My palms were sweating so hard I could practically water plants with them, which would've been convenient if I hadn't been gripping a red Solo cup like it contained the antidote to my social anxiety. Instead, it contained lukewarm soda that had gone flat hours ago, much like my conversation skills.

"You good, Maya?" Riley asked, bumping my shoulder with his. Riley, who'd been my lab partner since freshman year and somehow still hadn't realized I was catastrophically in love with him.

"Yeah. Just... lots of people."

This was the kind of party where everyone pretended they weren't checking their phones every thirty seconds. Jordan's backyard swimming pool glowed with those fancy underwater lights, casting everything in this weird electric blue that made everyone look either gorgeous or like they were about to throw up. I was definitely in the second category.

Then I saw him—Jordan's older brother, home from college, sitting on the diving board with what looked like someone's golden retriever. A dog. At a party. Because apparently that was a thing that happened now.

"That's Buster," Riley said, following my gaze. "Jordan's mom's dog. He's escaping the chaos inside."

Before I could process this information, Riley grabbed my hand. "Come on. Let's go swimming."

"What?"

"Swimming. In the pool. With water. It's ninety degrees and you look like you're about to pass out from overthinking everything."

He dragged me toward the pool, and I didn't stop him because (a) Riley was holding my hand and (b) my brain had short-circuited. The dog lifted its head as we approached, tail thumping against the diving board like a metronome.

"Watch this," Riley said, and cannonballed into the pool.

Water splashed everywhere. I jumped in after him, still fully clothed because that's what happens when someone's hand is in yours and you're operating on pure impulse.

Underwater, everything was muffled and blue and weightless. I opened my eyes to see Riley floating there, hair swirling around his face like seaweed, grinning through the chlorine. And for the first time all night, my palms stopped sweating.

When we surfaced, gasping and laughing, the dog was still watching us from the diving board, like he knew something we didn't.

"Better?" Riley asked, wiping water from his eyes.

I looked at him—really looked at him—and realized that sometimes you have to jump in fully clothed to find out what you're really feeling.

"Yeah," I said. "Better."

The dog barked, like he approved.

Sometimes the best moments aren't the ones you plan. They're the ones where you're soaking wet, your hair's a disaster, and someone's looking at you like you might be the best thing that happened all night.