Splash Strike

Marcus gripped his baseball bat like it owed him money, sweat already beading on his forehead. First week of July, and the entire sophomore class had gathered at Tyler's house for the legendary pool-party-baseball mashup. Marcus adjusted his cap, trying to look casual, but his stomach did that annoying flutter thing whenever SHE was around.

Across the yard, Chloe lounged by the pool in that perfectly effortless way that made his brain short-circuit. His iPhone buzzed in his pocket — probably the group chat blowing up about whether Tyler's older brother was actually bringing the buena onda tacos truck or if that was just bull, like last time.

"You gonna stare at her all day or actually swing?" his best mate Jamal called from the pitcher's mound, already grinning like he knew exactly what Marcus was thinking.

"Shut up and throw," Marcus shot back, stepping up to the plate.

The pitch came — too high, too outside. Ball one. Marcus's phone buzzed again. He ignored it. Second pitch, he connected. PERFECT connection. The ball soared over the makeshift fence, straight toward—

—Chloe.

Time moved in weird slow-motion. She looked up from her phone. The ball descended. And then, in one surprisingly athletic move, she caught it barehanded, lost her balance, and tumbled backward into the pool with a splash that sent water everywhere.

Dead silence. Then she surfaced, sopping wet but grinning, holding up the baseball like a prize.

"Nice hit, Marcus," she called, flipping her wet hair. "Next time, maybe warn me?"

Later, as everyone laughed and someone cranked the playlist, Marcus finally checked his phone. Two texts from Chloe, sent before the home run:

"hey, nice swing (;"

"wanna get agua fresca after?"

Marcus typed back, his fingers shaking slightly: "only if u promise not 2 catch my phone this time"

She sent back a sunglasses emoji, and Marcus decided this was officially the best summer ever.