Sink or Swim

The invitation to Jake Carson's pool party had been sitting on my phone for three days, mocking me every time I unlocked it. Everyone who was anyone would be there, including Maya, who I'd been lowkey crushing on since biology lab when she let me borrow her pen and our fingers touched for like, two whole seconds.

But there was a problem — a big one. I couldn't actually swim.

My mom had signed me up for lessons when I was seven, but I'd fake-stomach-ached my way out of every single session. Now, at sixteen, I was somehow still bluffing my way through pool-related conversations. If anyone asked, I'd just say I "wasn't feeling it" or claim chlorine made my skin break out. Lame, I know.

Friday arrived, and I showed up wearing my longest board shorts, determined to keep it cool. The pool was already packed — Jake's backyard was basically social ground zero. People were cannonballing, playing chicken, looking effortless and gorgeous. And there was Maya in a turquoise bikini, laughing at something Jake said.

My stomach did this weird flippy thing. I needed to make a move.

But first, the spinach dip. I'd been stress-eating it since I arrived, convinced it would calm my nerves. Big mistake. Massive mistake.

"Yo Marcus, you coming in or what?" Jake called from the pool's edge.

Everyone was looking. Maya was looking.

"Yeah, yeah," I said, trying to sound casual. "Just warming up."

I walked toward the pool, chin up, like I did this every weekend. Jake and his friends were in the shallow end, beckoning me over. I took a deep breath and stepped down the ladder.

The water hit my waist. Okay, not so bad.

"Get in already!" someone shouted.

I took another step. The water rose to my chest. Still manageable. But then — my foot slipped on the sloping bottom. Suddenly I was under, chlorinated water filling my nose, arms flailing, everything chaotic and wrong. I couldn't find the bottom. I couldn't—

Hands grabbed me, hauled me up sputtering.

"You okay, bro?" Jake looked weirdly concerned.

I wiped my face, my heart hammering. "Yeah, just slipped."

Then everyone started laughing.

"Dude," Jake said, "you've got — " He gestured at his own teeth.

I ran to the bathroom mirror. There it was: a massive, fluorescent green chunk of spinach wedged between my two front teeth, visible from space. I'd been walking around with it all night, talking to Maya, trying to act cool.

I wanted to dissolve.

But then Maya appeared in the doorway, still in her turquoise bikini.

"So," she said, grinning. "You going to teach me how not to swim, or what?"

She pointed to her own smile. A tiny piece of spinach.

"We can learn together," she said.

And somehow, with spinach in our teeth and my dignity somewhere at the bottom of Jake's pool, I realized I was going to be okay.