The Orange Bikini Incident

I was supposed to be playing baseball with the guys, but instead I was hiding behind the oak tree in the Millers' backyard, basically being a creep. But that's what happens when you're fifteen and have zero chill.

Chloe was in the pool. Not just in the pool — she was owning it, doing these effortless laps while everyone else played lame games of chicken fight. I'd been secretly watching her swim at the community center for weeks now, which sounds low-key stalkerish when I say it out loud, but whatever. It was my thing.

Her orange bikini bright enough to signal aliens from space.

"Dude, what are you doing?"

I jumped so hard I nearly face-planted into the dirt. Jake stood there, holding my baseball glove, looking at me like I'd grown a second head.

"Nothing," I said, smooth as sandpaper. "Just... appreciating nature."

"You're spying on Chloe. Again." He flopped down beside me. "You know she joined the swim team, right? That's why she's always swimming."

I did know that. I knew everything about Chloe Miller. It was pathetic.

The pool erupted in laughter. Someone — maybe Tyler — had done something stupid off the diving board. But Chloe wasn't laughing. She was climbing out, water streaming off her like something out of a movie, and then she was looking right at our tree. Right at me.

My heart did this embarrassingly gymnastic thing.

"Hey, Baseball Boy," she called out. Everyone turned. The universe had officially ended. "Either come say hi or go back to your little game. This weird tree stalker thing is creepy."

Jake was dying. Actually dying. His face was buried in his hands, shoulders shaking.

I stood up. My legs felt like they'd never worked before. Walked over to the pool. Sat on the edge, right where she'd indicated.

"Hi," I said.

"Hi," she said back, grinning like she knew exactly how much I was freaking out. "You gonna get in, or are you allergic to chlorine?"

"I can't swim," I admitted, which was true and humiliating.

Chloe's eyebrows went up. "Seriously?"

"Seriously."

"Well," she said, splashing water onto my shoes, "guess I'll have to teach you."

Jake whooped from the tree. Tyler wolf-whistled. And somewhere inside my chest, something tight finally let go.

"Okay," I said. "But you have to come to baseball practice tomorrow. I need a pitcher."

"Deal," she said, and pulled me into the pool with her.

I went under completely, lungs burning, world going silent and muffled and perfect. When I broke the surface, sputtering and wiping water from my eyes, she was still grinning.

"You're terrible at this," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Yeah, I am."