The Orange Trunks Incident

Marcus stared at the neon orange swim trunks his mom had thrust at him, like they were radioactive. "These were on clearance, honey! Very vibrant."

Vibrant. That was one word for it. Another word: impossible to hide at Jake Morrison's pool party.

Jake Morrison, whose Instagram stories were basically a documentary of how awesome his life was. Jake, who'd actually said "hey" to Marcus in the hall yesterday, sending Marcus's inner monologue into a spiral of what-did-that-mean energy.

"You're not gonna blend in," his best friend Devon had texted when Marcus sent a SOS photo of the trunks. "But like, maybe that's the vibe? Main character energy?"

Main character energy. Sure. Marcus felt more like an NPC who'd glitched into the wrong outfit.

The pool party was exactly what Marcus expected: too loud, too many people, and everyone already in the pool except for the people huddled on the patio, phones in hand, epically failing to pretend they weren't awkward. The air smelled like coconut sunscreen and something citrusy. Someone had spilled orange soda near the lounge chairs, and Marcus nearly stepped in it before veering toward the house.

Inside, it was darker, cooler. The TV was blaring some cable reality show that everyone claimed they didn't watch but definitely did. Marcus found an outlet by the couch and plugged in his phone—his lifeline, his social safety net, his excuse to not be swimming.

"Nice trunks."

Marcus jumped. It was Jake Morrison. Shirtless. Drip-drying. A towel slung over one shoulder like he was in a deodorant commercial.

"Thanks?" Marcus managed. "My mom got them on clearance."

"Clearance finds are the best finds," Jake said, completely serious. "You coming in? The water's not too bad."

Marcus's brain short-circuited. Say something cool. Say something funny. Say—"I don't really swim that much."

Jake nodded like this was normal information people shared at parties. "Yeah? I didn't learn until last summer. My cousin Maya finally taught me. She was like, 'Jake, you're not gonna drown, just relax your muscles.' It was awful, but then it wasn't."

Marcus stared at him. Jake Morrison, Jake Perfect-Social-Skills Morrison, didn't know how to swim until recently?

"You want me to teach you?" Jake asked. "No pressure. But I promise I won't let you drown. That's literally my job as host."

So Marcus found himself waist-deep in pool water, hanging onto the concrete edge while Jake explained floating techniques like they were discussing cheat codes for a video game. And somewhere between Marcus's third failed attempt at floating and Jake laughing so hard at Marcus's panic that he snorted water, the orange trunks stopped feeling like a mistake.

They were just trunks. Bright, impossible-to-ignore trunks.

When Marcus finally floated on his back, staring up at the sky, Jake said, "See? Main character energy."

Marcus flipped onto his feet, splashing water everywhere. "Shut up."

"You're literally glowing though," Jake said. "Orange on orange. It's a brand."

Marcus watched the way the sunlight hit the pool's surface, creating little dancing patterns of light. He thought about his phone, still plugged in inside, about how he'd spent half the party hiding behind a screen.

"Hey Jake?"

"Yeah?"

"Teach me to swim properly next."

Jake's grin was immediate. "Done. But we're starting with the orange trunks. They're lucky now."

And Marcus found himself laughing, really laughing, as he realized sometimes the most embarrassing things became the best stories. The ones that actually mattered.