Splash Point

Maya's hands shook as she clutched her **iphone**, staring at the group chat notification that had been sitting unread for twenty minutes. *Padel practice at 4. Don't be late.*

She wasn't going to padel practice. She was never going back.

The **water** in the community pool shimmered under the June sun, deceptively inviting. Maya had failed miserably at padel—tripped over her own feet during the championship match, right in front of everyone. Right in front of him.

"You need these," her mom had said that morning, pressing a handful of neon **vitamin** gummies into her palm. "For stress. Big game today."

Big game. Big disaster.

Now Maya stood at the pool's edge, watching the **swimming** team practice laps. They moved like synchronized fish, effortless and electric. She'd been secretly coming here for weeks, watching them, wishing she could just dissolve into the chlorinated blue.

"You're that girl from the match, right?"

Maya jumped. A boy with wet hair and goggles around his neck stood behind her. Leo. The one who'd actually helped her up after she face-planted during the game.

"The tragic one," she muttered.

"The one who screamed 'MY ANKLE IS BROKEN' and then stood up thirty seconds later," he corrected. A grin. "That was legendary."

Her face burned. "You saw that?"

"Everyone saw that. It's kind of viral." He pulled out his own **iphone**. "Wanna see?"

"NO." But he was already showing her—a video of her spectacular fall, edited with sad violin music. Somehow, the comments were all wholesome. *Is she okay?* *Respect for the recovery.* *Weirdly iconic?*

"You're famous," Leo said. "Wanna learn to swim instead?"

Maya looked at the water. At her phone, where her padel teammates were probably wondering where she was. At the vitamin gummies melting in her pocket.

"Yes," she said. "Yes, I really do."