The Cat Who Saw Everything

My palms were sweating so bad I could practically water the plants with them. Welcome to Tyler's annual pool party, where the social hierarchy gets rearranged like a messy lunch tray and I'm just trying not to drown—metaphorically AND literally.

I'd spent forty-five minutes perfecting my hair. Forty-five. Then I decided to be "healthy" and grab some spinach salad because apparently that's what cool people eat now? Big mistake. Massive.

I spotted Jordan across the pool, looking effortless in that way that makes you want to simultaneously disappear and be noticed. They were doing that thing where they're sort of palm-reading people? Like, actually holding hands and telling fortunes. So cheesy. So midnight-at-sleepover energy. Everyone was eating it up.

I was working up my courage to maybe approach the situation when I caught my reflection in the sliding glass door.

Spinach. A whole, beautiful, fluorescent-green piece of spinach wedged between my front teeth like it was paying rent.

"No, no, no," I muttered, frantically trying to dislodge it with my tongue while pretending to casually lean against a tree. A tree that turned out to be a palm tree. Of course Tyler's family had palm trees. Because regular trees aren't aesthetic enough for Instagram.

Then it got worse. Lightning lit up the sky like someone had taken a flash photo of my humiliation. One crack of thunder, and suddenly everyone was scrambling inside, pool party aborted, storm incoming.

Except me. I was trapped behind the palm tree, spinach still firmly entrenched in my smile, Jordan walking right toward me.

"Hey," they said. "You coming in?"

I opened my mouth to respond coolly, but what came out was: "I have spinach."

Jordan blinked. Then they laughed—not the mean laugh, but the real one. The kind that crinkles your nose. "I know. I was trying to figure out how to tell you without making it weird."

We both started laughing. A stray cat darted out from under the pool furniture, eyeing us like we were absolutely ridiculous.

"You hungry, little guy?" I asked. "I have spinach."

The cat did not want my spinach.

"Come on," Jordan said, grabbing my hand—the opposite one from the palm reading earlier. "Let's get you a mirror. And maybe some chips instead of salad."

Sometimes your most embarrassing moments aren't catastrophes. Sometimes they're just the lightning that finally strikes—bright, loud, and completely illuminating.