Summer of the Living Tired

The pool water sparkled like someone had dumped a truckload of glitter into it, which honestly wouldn't have surprised me. This was Jordan's house, after all. The girl whose birthday party had literally gone viral last year. I stood by the snack table, clutching my phone like it was a life raft, wearing my dad's old fishing hat because I'd rolled out of bed at noon and my hair looked like a rat's nest.

I felt like a total zombie. Three nights of falling down YouTube rabbit holes until 3 AM will do that to you. But Jordan was finally noticing me — or at least, I hoped she was. I'd been playing it cool, acting like I was just scrolling through memes when really I was low-key spying on her across the pool.

"Hey!" A voice cut through my existential crisis. It was Marcus, Jordan's friend who always had something snarky to say. "Nice hat. Going fishing later?"

"Ha-ha," I deadpanned. "It's called fashion, Marcus. Look it up."

He smirked. "Whatever. Jordan's asking about you. She wants to know if you're gonna actually swim or just stand there looking like a pool accessory."

My stomach did that thing where it feels like it's trying to escape your body. "She what now?"

"You heard me." He gestured toward the tangled mess of cables by the outdoor TV setup. "Her dad's cable box is messed up again. She mentioned you're good with tech. Something about how you fixed the sound system at the spring dance?"

Oh. OH. This was my chance. Not just to fix a cable box, but to actually talk to her without my voice cracking or saying something weird.

I walked over, trying to look confident and not like I was internally screaming. Jordan smiled when she saw me, and suddenly I didn't feel like such a zombie anymore. Maybe today wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe, just maybe, I could stop spying from the sidelines and actually be part of the story.