That Night at the Quarry

The **water** at Miller's Quarry was supposed to be this legendary right of passage. Everyone talked about it like it was some portal to coolness, but standing there in my cutoffs and knock-off Vans, I mostly felt cold and exposed.

Maya was already in, her hair slicked back like a seal, laughing at something Tyler said. Tyler, who'd apparently become a whole new person over summer break, now that he'd started varsity football and learned to drive his brother's pickup. He was holding court on the rocky edge, shirt off, acting like he owned the place.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called.

I hesitated. Then this guy Jason—you know, the one whose dad owns the car dealership—appeared holding these suspicious-looking **orange** bottles. "Pre-game," he said, winking. Fake IDs and cheap vodka. The universal language of trying too hard.

Tyler grabbed one, his eyes locked on Maya. "Whatever, I don't need this to have fun." Then he launched himself into the quarry with this macho yell, like he was some Marine Corps recruit instead of a seventeen-year-old from suburban Ohio.

He surfaced spluttering. "It's deeper than I thought," he announced, like he'd discovered something profound instead of just face-planting.

Maya rolled her eyes. I swam over to her. The **orange** sunset was painting everything gold and pink, and for a second, the fake IDs and the performance of it all fell away. We treaded water, knees brushing, and she told me she was scared about college applications, about her parents fighting, about feeling like everyone else had life figured out.

"Tyler's such a **bull** in a china shop," she said, watching him attempt to impress her friends with his shallow diving skills. "But sometimes I wish I could just be that confident. Even if it's all front."

"You're real, though," I said, and the words felt huge in the open air.

She smiled, and maybe it was the **water** distorting everything, or the way the **orange** light caught her eyelashes, but I thought—just for a second—that maybe being the awkward one, the one who overthinks and doesn't pretend to have it figured out, might actually be okay.

Later, Tyler drove everyone to Taco Bell, and Maya sat in the middle seat, not the passenger seat. The **orange** streetlights flickered past, and I realized nobody ever really figures it out. Some people just make more noise pretending.