The Art of Not Drowning

Maya stood at the edge of the pool clutching her solo cup like it contained the antidote to social death. Which, technically, it might—someone had spiked the punch with enough **vitamin** C supplements to cure an entire freshman class of scurvy. Not that anyone was drinking it for health benefits.

"You coming in or what?" Jake called from the water, droplets scattering like diamonds against his stupid perfect abs. He was floating on an inflatable **orange** slice that looked ridiculous but somehow he made it look like an editorial shoot.

Maya's stomach did that thing where it tried to exit her body through her throat. She'd spent three hours getting ready, only to arrive and immediately realize she was underdressed, over-anxious, and possibly still had **spinach** in her teeth from lunch.

Her phone buzzed. Sasha: *UR MISSING IT*

Sasha was somewhere by the **palm** trees, probably making out with Tyler's cousin who'd just returned from boarding school and apparently developed a jawline in the process.

The pool stretched before her like a social minefield. Last year, Maya had been the girl who jumped in first. This year, after the incident where she'd worn a two-piece that turned basically transparent when wet, she'd become the girl who stood at the edge holding everyone's towels.

She checked her reflection in the sliding glass door. No spinach. Small mercies.

"Maya!" Jake paddled over. "Stop thinking and just—"

He lunged, grabbed her wrist, and yanked.

The world tilted. Gravity betrayed her. She hit the water with an ungraceful splash that definitely killed whatever remaining mystique she'd been clinging to.

But then she was surfacing, sputtering, while everyone laughed—not mean laughter, but real laughter. Jake was grinning like he'd just accomplished something profound. Sasha abandoned her palm-tree sanctuary to cannonball in next to her.

"Finally," Sasha said, surfacing with chlorine-webbed eyes. "I was about to jump in and get you myself."

The **orange** slice float bumped against Maya's arm. Jake pushed it toward her.

"Your chariot," he said, with a stupid little bow.

And somehow, floating there in the twinkling pool water, surrounded by palm shadows and the sound of her friends being ridiculous, Maya realized something: nobody was watching her as closely as she'd been watching herself.

She climbed onto the orange slice, crossed her legs, and finally exhaled.

"Jake," she said, "if you ever pull me in again, I will end you."

"Noted," he grinned, and splashed water in her face.

Some things never changed. But that was okay. She was learning to swim.