The Pool Party Protocol

The hat was everything. A black beanie in July? Absolutely. But when your hair decides to betray you three hours before the biggest party of the summer, you make questionable life choices.

"You good?" Marcus asked, looking up from his iPhone. He'd been checking Snapchat streaks for twenty minutes straight.

"Never been more deceased," I said, adjusting the hat for the fiftieth time. "My mom made me take this vitamin D supplement this morning and said it'd help my 'growing body.' Meanwhile I'm out here looking like a whole goblin."

Marcus laughed, but I caught him glancing at his phone again. Something was off.

The Miller's pool shimmered behind him—turquoise water, string lights, people who belonged here. People like Maya, who'd floated by earlier looking effortless in a two-piece. People who didn't need tactical headwear to feel human.

Then I saw it. The notification on Marcus's lock screen. A text from Maya: *"ask him if he's coming innnn lol"*

Oh.

OH.

The pieces clicked like they'd been waiting forever. The hat wasn't about my hair anymore. It was a shield. A buffer. A way to hide from exactly this—being seen, being wanted, being expected to show up.

A distant rumble. Purple lightning split the sky beyond the fence.

"Storm's coming," Marcus said. "We should probably—"

"No." I pulled off the hat. My hair was definitely not okay, but whatever. "You know what? Bet."

"What?"

I walked toward the pool. Maya waved from the deep end. Her friends were watching. Marcus was watching.

Sometimes you have to jump in before you're ready. Before you've practiced your lines. Before you've convinced yourself you're ready.

I cannonballed.

The shock of cold hit me like pure electricity. When I surfaced, sopping and spluttering, Maya was laughing. Not *at* me—*with* me. And Marcus was grinning from the edge, finally putting his phone in his pocket.

"About time," he called.

The hat stayed on the pool deck all night. Some things you outgrow faster than you think.