The Ghost in the Cable

Maya hated the way the pool water made her hair smell like chlorine mixed with regret. It was day three of her summer job as a lifeguard at the Pinecrest Community Center, and she'd already accidentally blown her whistle at a grandma doing water aerobics.

"You're doing fine," said Liam, the senior guard with the stupid-cute dimples and consistently vape-​chill energy. He leaned against the storage closet door, holding out a slice of orange. "Vitamin C. Helps with the existential dread."

Maya accepted it, trying to look unbothered. "I don't have existential dread. I have performance anxiety and a very specific fear that I'm going to fail my driver's test again next week."

"Same difference," Liam said, grinning. "Hey, can you help me with something? The sound system's been glitching during lap swim. Old people keep complaining they can't hear their hypnosis podcasts."

The cable connecting the pool speakers had come loose again—some recurring technological curse that Maya, being the daughter of an electrician, had somehow become the unofficial expert on. She climbed onto the storage shelf while Liam held the flashlight from his phone, illuminating dust motes dancing in the darkness.

"There," she said, reconnecting the coaxial cable with a satisfying click. "Should work now."

"You're basically a genius," Liam said, and Maya's stomach did that embarrassingly hopeful flip thing, like when your crush accidentally makes eye contact with you across a crowded cafeteria.

Then the speakers crackled to life, blasting someone's forgotten Bluetooth connection at maximum volume: I'M JUST KEN, NICE TO MEET—

Liam started laughing so hard he dropped his phone. Maya covered her face with both hands, ready to evaporate on the spot.

The door swung open. The pool manager stood there, unimpressed. The orange slice fell from Maya's hand and rolled across the wet floor.

"Swimming lessons start in five," she said. "Fix whatever you broke."

Later, sitting on the edge of the pool during her break, Maya watched the water ripple in the sunset light. Liam appeared with two new orange slices from the vending machine.

"Worst moment of my life," she muttered.

"Nah," he said, sitting beside her, their shoulders barely touching. "Last week I accidentally told the mayor's wife her dog looked like a shaved cat. This was nothing."

Maya laughed, and something in her chest loosened. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so terrible after all.