The Pool Party Catastrophe

I was absolutely not stalking him. Okay, maybe I'd positioned myself strategically behind the bleachers during baseball practice every Tuesday for three weeks, but that's just dedication, not a crime. My best friend Zoe called it 'behavior that would get your Instagram banned,' but I preferred 'thorough research.' Tyler was the starting shortstop, had that effortlessly messy hair that probably took twenty minutes to style, and wore his jersey like it was personally offended by his shoulders.

The mission: get invited to his pool party Saturday. The obstacle: my cat, Pickles, had recently developed an obsession with my collection of vintage band tees and had clawed a literal hole in my favorite Ramones shirt right across the chest. Not exactly first-impression material.

'So you're just gonna spy on the party from the bushes?' Zoe asked, handing me the world's most chaotic cover-up: a swimsuit under oversized cargo shorts.

'It's called reconnaissance,' I corrected, though my voice cracked. 'I need to assess the social landscape before entering.'

The party was already in full swing when we arrived. Tyler was there, shirtless (of course), playing chicken fight in the pool with some sophomore whose name I definitely didn't look up that morning. Someone had rigged up a massive speaker system using an extension cable snaking from the garage patio, blasting a playlist that was somehow simultaneously too trendy and nostalgic.

I awkwardly hovered by the snack table, pretending to be deeply fascinated by a bowl of stale chips.

'Hey! Baseball girl!'

Tyler was wading over to the pool's edge, water dripping down his collarbones. My brain short-circuited. 'I... what?'

'You're always at practice, right? Scouts a spot?' He grinned, and I realized my entire covert operation had about as much stealth as a glitter explosion in a dark room.

'Something like that,' I managed, which was technically true if you stretched the definition of 'scouting' to include 'trying to memorize his batting order.'

'Sick. You wanna play beer pong? We're setting up teams.' He motioned to a folding table. 'Unless you're gonna keep spyin' on us from the snack zone.'

My face burned. 'I wasn't—'

'Bro, leave her alone,' his friend called out. 'She's obviously plotting your murder. It's giving creepy.'

Tyler laughed. 'Nah, she's cool. Hey, you coming?'

I looked at Zoe, who was already disappearing toward the table. I looked at the pool, the cable still trailing dangerously close to the water. I looked at Tyler, waiting for my answer like I wasn't a complete disaster of a human being.

'Yeah,' I said, and for once, my voice didn't crack. 'Yeah, I'm coming.'