The Orange Soda Incident

Maya's fluorescent orange bikini was already giving her a rash, but that was the least of her problems. She stood by the pool edge, clutching a warm orange soda like it was a lifeline, watching the popular kids arrange themselves into a ridiculous human pyramid on the diving board. Of course they would. Of course Chad would somehow end up on top, his stupid perfect hair defying gravity.

"You gonna jump or just spy on them all day?"

Maya nearly dropped her soda. It was Leo, the quiet guy from her chemistry class who sat behind her and always smelled like peppermint. He was adjusting his goggles, looking uncharacteristically confident.

"I'm not spying," she hissed. "I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Same thing." Leo nodded toward the pyramid. "Wanna bet on when it collapses?"

"Thirty seconds," she said, checking her phone. No new messages from her friends who'd bailed to go to the mall instead.

"You're on. Loser has to—"

The pyramid toppled. Screams erupted. Someone's phone (probably Chad's) made a spectacular arc into the deep end.

Maya and Leo locked eyes. Then they were both laughing, really laughing, the kind where your stomach hurts and you can't breathe. The whole pool scene—the forced fun, the careful positioning, the exhausting performance of it all—suddenly seemed hilarious.

"You know," Leo said, once they'd calmed down, "I've been coming here all summer and this is the first time I've actually had fun."

"Same," Maya admitted. She set down her orange soda. "Wanna get out of here? There's a boba place down the street."

Leo grinned. "Only if you promise not to spy on me while I drink mine."

"No promises." She grabbed her towel, already planning what she'd text her friends later. How she'd discovered that sometimes the best memories aren't the ones you carefully stage for Instagram, but the ones that happen when you stop performing and start living.

The orange soda sat abandoned on the pool deck, condensation tracing rings around something new beginning.