The Pool Party Apocalypse

Maya's mother stood in the doorway holding a bottle of neon-orange gummies that promised to transform her into someone who actually enjoyed Saturday afternoons.

"It's the new vitamin blend," her mom said, with that terrifying optimistic voice. "For focus. For confidence. For—you know—actually having fun at Jordan's pool party instead of standing in the corner like a…"

"Zombie?" Maya supplied.

"I was going to say 'wallflower,' but sure, zombie works too."

Maya grabbed the gummies. Whatever. They couldn't make things worse.

Jordan's house was exactly the kind of suburban fortress where Maya always felt like she'd walked into the wrong movie. Kids she'd known since fourth grade were already in the pool, their skin golden and perfect, while she stood by the patio doors in her too-long board shorts, clutching a cup of fruit punch like it was a grenade.

Then she saw him—Jordan's older brother, Caleb, home from college. He was sitting in a Adirondack chair with headphones on, looking magnificent and miserable all at once.

Maya's rescue dog, Barnaby, would've known exactly what to do: barrel over, flop dramatically, and demand attention. Barnaby could make friends with a lamppost. Maya was still working on humans.

She took a vitamin gummy. Then another one for good measure.

Caleb looked up, and their eyes met. He pulled off his headphones.

"You're Maya, right? Jordan says you're the one who's really into that bear conservation project downtown?"

Maya blinked. This was not what she expected.

"Yeah—I volunteer there. We're helping rehabilitate this cub they found, and—"

"That's actually sick," Caleb said. And for the first time in her life, someone wasn't being sarcastic when they said something she cared about was cool.

They talked for twenty minutes about bears, about how weird it was to be back home after freshman year, about how swimming used to be his thing until he burned out, about how the gummy vitamins his mom kept buying had actually turned his tongue blue for three days.

When Jordan called everyone into the pool for chicken fights, Maya hesitated. She'd spent three years perfecting the art of not participating. But then she looked at Caleb, who was already waist-deep in the water, gesturing for her to come in.

"Your gummies are working," he called. "I can see the confidence from here."

Maya laughed—actually laughed—and jumped in.

She'd still be awkward tomorrow. She'd still stand in corners sometimes. But as she splashed toward the deep end, toward someone who saw her instead of through her, Maya thought maybe zombies could learn to swim after all.