Spinach Stuck in My Teeth

I'm drowning. Not literally, though I'm definitely not doing any actual swimming. No, I'm drowning in the awkwardness of standing in the shallow end of the community pool while everyone else acts like they're in a music video.

"Maya! You coming or what?" Jake's voice cuts through the humidity. He's the baseball team's star pitcher, wearing those stupid swim trunks that hang way too low, and somehow he still looks like he walked off a magazine cover. I hate that I notice that.

I manage something that sounds like a laugh. "Yeah, just... warming up."

Warming up. In July. Brilliant, Maya. Really selling it.

The real reason I'm stuck in three feet of water? I can't actually swim. Like, at all. My parents tried lessons when I was six, but I ended up with a permanent fear of putting my face underwater while simultaneously trying not to look like I'm about to die. Which is exactly what I feel like doing right now.

Then there's the spinach incident.

Earlier, at the pre-party setup, I'd been helping Jake's mom with the salad bar. Green smoothies? Sure, why not. But nobody told me about the massive chunk of spinach lodged between my front teeth until I caught my reflection in the microwave door. By then, I'd already smiled at approximately twelve people. Including Jake.

So now I'm not only the girl who won't leave the shallow end, I'm also Spinach Girl. Forever immortalized as the person who looked like she'd been grazing in a field.

And then there's Carter. The resident bully of our grade, currently cannonballing directly toward me like he's aiming for maximum splash damage. The water hits my face, my nose, my dignity—gone in a single, calculated move.

"Oops," Carter says, not sorry at all. "My bad, Spinach Girl."

The nickname. He went there.

My face burns. I can feel it. I'm about to bolt, to grab my towel and never return to this swimming pool or this town ever again—

"Hey."

Jake's beside me, suddenly present. Not smiling, not laughing. Just there.

"Carter, lay off, okay? That's weak even for you."

Carter rolls his eyes but swims off toward the deep end. Jake turns to me, and I'm waiting for it. The joke, the pity, whatever.

"I never learned either," he says. "To swim, I mean. My parents finally got me lessons last summer. I spent the first three sessions clinging to the edge like my life depended on it."

I blink. "You? The baseball phenom?"

"The what now?" He laughs, actually laughs. "Maya, I play baseball. I'm not a phenom. And I spent fifteen years being terrified of putting my head underwater. The spinach thing? I've got you beat. Last year, I had a piece of cilantro in my braces for an entire school day. Nobody told me until sixth period. I'm still recovering."

Something in my chest loosens. Not everything, but something.

"You had cilantro in your braces all day?"

"All day. I'm pretty sure people are still whispering about it in the hallways." He shrugs. "So you want to stay in the shallow end with me? We can be the I Can't Really Swim But I'm Trying My Best club."

"That's the worst club name ever."

"I'm open to suggestions."

"The Non-Swimmers Association?"

"Better. But too formal. We need something with more dignity."

I find myself actually smiling. Not the fake one I've been forcing all afternoon. This one feels different—lighter, somehow.

"How about... the people who are absolutely not doing any deep-end swimming today?"

Jake's grinning now, and it's genuine. "I can work with that. But first—" he points at my teeth "—you might want to check a mirror. Just kidding. The spinach's gone. You're good."

I splash him. He splashes back. And for the first time all day, the pool doesn't feel like a place where I'm drowning. It feels like somewhere I might actually want to be.