The Orange Floatie Incident

Mia's palms were sweating so bad she could barely grip her phone. Pool parties. The ultimate social battlefield of sophomore year, and she'd been drafted into the trenches without basic training.

"You coming in or what?" Jake called from the deep end, water dripping from hair that looked perfect even when wet. Because of course his hair looked perfect. Jake Chen, varsity swimmer, owner of the world's most annoying dimple, and currently the reason Mia's heart was doing backflips.

She clutched the one thing standing between her and total humiliation: a bright **orange** inflatable flamingo that was definitely not giving serious-cool-girl vibes. But the alternative was Actual Swimming, which Mia had approximately zero skill in. She'd been faking swim competency since fifth grade, mostly through strategic avoidance and elaborate excuses about cramps.

"Just warming up!" she lied, sliding into the shallow end with the elegance of a newborn giraffe.

Her friends were already doing that thing where they formed a floating circle, treading water like it required zero effort. Meanwhile, Mia was calculating survival strategies. If she stayed in the three-foot section, she'd look lame. If she ventured deeper, she'd drown and also look lame.

"Mia, come here!" Sophie waved from the middle. "We're doing a toast!"

This was it. The moment of truth. She pushed off the bottom, legs kicking, arms windmilling, the orange flamingo bobbing beside her like a judgmental witness. But halfway across, her legs stopped cooperating. That familiar panic seized her chest—the one she'd been hiding for years.

Then Jake was there, hands gripping her **swimming**-struggling form, steadying her. His palm felt warm against her back, and for a second she forgot to panic about the water because she was too busy panicking about his hands being on her.

"You good?" His voice was low, concerned. Not mocking. Not laughing.

"Yeah just—cramps," she whispered, the same old excuse.

"I've got you," he said, and something in his tone made her think maybe he meant more than just keeping her from sinking. "Hey, you know nobody actually cares if you can swim, right? We're literally just floating and talking about Mr. Henderson's combover."

Mia laughed, surprised. The orange flamingo bumped into them both, ridiculous and perfect. Maybe sophomore year wouldn't be so terrifying after all. At least until the next social crisis.