Sweaty Palms & Chlorine Hearts

My palms were sweating. Like, actually dripping. I wiped them on my shorts for the third time, staring at the invitation on my phone. Jenna's pool party. THE Jenna Miller, who sat two rows ahead in homeroom and probably didn't know I existed until last week when she somehow got my number and invited me to her thing.

"You good?" Marcus asked, slapping my shoulder. He'd been my best friend since kindergarten and knew exactly what was up. "Bro, it's just a party. Jump in the water, look chill, maybe actually talk to her this time?"

"I'm not good at swimming, though," I muttered. "Like, at all. What if I look stupid?"

Marcus snorted. "Dude, it's not the Olympics. Doggy paddle and look fly doing it. That's the whole vibe."

We got to Jenna's house and the backyard was already chaotic. Kids everywhere, music blasting, floats shaped like flamingos and pizza slices. The pool looked way too big. Jenna waved from the diving board, looking annoyingly perfect in her bikini, droplets of water glistening on her arms like she'd stepped out of a movie or something.

"Hey! You made it!" she called, and my stomach did this weird flutter thing. She hopped down and walked over, and I realized my palms were sweating AGAIN. Great. "C'mon, get in!"

"I, uh—" I started, but Marcus had already ditched me for a game of chicken fight with some sophomore I didn't know.

Jenna smiled, and something about her expression made me think she knew exactly how nervous I was. "Hey, don't worry about it. We can start in the shallow end. I can teach you if you want?"

My face burned. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah, no big deal. My cousin was terrified of water until last year, so I've got practice." She waded in, gesturing for me to follow. "Besides, it's more fun when everyone's in the pool, you know?"

So I got in. And yeah, I probably looked ridiculous splashing around while she showed me how to actually keep my head above water. But the whole time, Jenna kept laughing at my terrible form and making jokes about how I swam like a "drowning cat with better cardio," and somehow that was fine. Better than fine.

By the time her mom called everyone for pizza, I was actually swimming. Not well, but moving without panicking. And when Jenna sat next to me on the patio later, her hand brushed mine and neither of us moved away.

"Next time," she said, grinning, "we're working on diving. Just FYI."

"Looking forward to it," I said, and for once, my palms were completely dry.