Sunset at Miller's Pond

The **orange** sunset bled into the horizon like a bruised peach, painting Miller's Pond in colors that felt too intense for a Tuesday. Maya stood at the edge, her sneakers sinking into mud, clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline.

"You gonna drink that or just hold it all night?"

She jumped. Jake. The Jake. Junior varsity track star, owner of the hair that somehow looked perfect even when he'd been **running** laps all afternoon. He stood there in his faded jersey, sweat still glistening on his forehead like he'd teleported straight from practice.

"It's just **water**," Maya said, instantly regretting how defensive she sounded. "My mom thinks if I'm home past ten, I'm probably doing drugs."

Jake laughed, and it was this weirdly warm sound that made something flip in her stomach. "Same. My dad thinks I'm joining a gang if I wear my hoodie up."

They stood there for a second, the awkwardness stretching thin until—

**BARK.**

A golden retriever exploded from the trees, hitting the **water** with a magnificent splash that soaked both of them. Maya shrieked. Jake cursed. The dog paddled triumphantly toward them, something **orange** clamped in its jaws—someone's traffic cone, apparently.

"That's Buster," Jake said, wringing out his shirt. "He belongs to the Millers. He's a criminal."

Maya looked at Jake, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead, grinning like an idiot while the criminal dog shook **water** all over both of them. And suddenly she wasn't the weird girl who'd come to this party because her best friend dragged her. She was just Maya, standing in pond water at sunset with a boy who laughed when a dog stole a traffic cone.

"Wanna see if we can get the cone back?" Jake asked.

Maya smiled, feeling something shift inside her—something light and terrifying and absolutely perfect. "Only if you're **running** interference."