The Pool Incident

Standing behind the concession counter, I felt like the lowest rung on the social pyramid at Crestview Pool. Even the lifeguards—who spent 90% of their time adjusting their sunglasses and 10% actually saving people—ranked above me.

"Spinach smoothie with extra vitamin C," Tyler said, sliding his phone across the counter. Tyler, who'd somehow managed to become popular despite being deeply strange. He'd started this wellness phase three weeks ago and was now evangelizing greens to anyone unfortunate enough to make eye contact.

"Bro, are you serious?" I asked. "It's ninety degrees. People want ICEE, not liquefied salad."

"That's exactly what the industrial complex wants you to think," Tyler said with terrifying sincerity. "My mom says I need more nutrients for football anyway."

The cable knitting together the fabric of my social existence was hanging by a thread. I had about three seconds to decide between being the person who made Tyler's spinach disaster or being the person who refused.

"Fine," I said, grabbing the blender. "But if I lose my dignity, you're paying double."

I dumped in the spinach, added some orange juice (vitamin C, close enough), and pressed blend. The machine made a sound like a dying whale. Everyone within thirty feet turned to stare.

"What ARE you making?" Maya appeared beside Tyler, looking equal parts horrified and fascinated. Maya, who I'd been lowkey crushing on since June, who I'd successfully avoided speaking to for three consecutive summers.

"Health," Tyler said proudly.

"It looks like pond water," she said.

"It's delicious," Tyler insisted, taking a sip and immediately gagging. "Okay, it needs something."

"Maybe something that doesn't taste like regret," I suggested.

Maya's eyes met mine. "I'm Maya."

"Liam," I said, my voice somehow working.

"Liam who makes pond water smoothies," she grinned. "Nice. You're working the graduation party Friday, right?"

My brain short-circuited. "Um, yes? I think?"

"Good," she said. "I'll save you a slice of cake if you promise to never make Tyler drink spinach again."

"Deal," I said, possibly too quickly.

Tyler finished his smoothie with the enthusiasm of someone facing execution. "You know what? Actually not terrible."

"You're a terrible liar," Maya told him.

"Whatever," Tyler said, already scrolling through his phone again. "Hey, did you guys see that video about the inverted food pyramid? Apparently we've got it all wrong—"

I caught Maya's eye and we both cracked up. Behind the counter, between the dying blender and the spinach disaster, something shifted. Maybe next time I wouldn't be at the bottom of the pyramid after all.