The Pool Party Protocol

Marcus spent forty-five minutes on his hair that morning. Not because he was vain—okay, maybe a little—but because Sarah Rodriguez would be at Tyler's pool party, and Marcus had been lowkey obsessed with her since seventh period English started three weeks ago. His curls had to hit that perfect balance between effortless and intentional, like he'd just rolled out of bed looking fantastic instead of actually trying.

The party was already in full swing when he arrived. Kids from school everywhere—popular crew, theater kids, that one sophomore who brought a guitar to every social gathering like they were waiting for their Marvel moment. Marcus felt his stomach doing that thing where it forgot how to organ function.

Then he saw her. Sarah by the pool, looking like summer incarnate in this yellow swimsuit that made his brain short-circuit. She was laughing at something Tyler said, and Marcus hated how natural it looked, how easy.

He grabbed a solo cup of fruit punch that was definitely not just fruit punch and hovered near the snacks, trying to look busy and mysterious instead of socially paralyzed. This was fine. He was fine. Everything was—

"BUSTER! NO!"

A golden retriever came tearing around the corner like a furry missile, chasing after a baseball that some genius had decided was appropriate to toss toward the pool area. Buster didn't care about social hierarchies or Marcus's carefully curated hair situation. Buster cared about velocity and chaos.

The dog launched himself into the air, paws scrambling, and collided with Marcus in what could only be described as a catastrophic embrace. They both went down—Marcus, Buster, and somehow that damn baseball—straight into the pool.

The water swallowed him whole. When he resurfaced, sputting and wiping chlorine from his eyes, the entire party had gone quiet. And there was Sarah, standing at the edge, mouth slightly open, and then—she was laughing. Not mean laughter, but actual cracking up, shoulders shaking, hand over her mouth.

"Are you okay?" she called, grinning.

Marcus treaded water, completely ruined hair, dignity in shreds, solo cup bobbing somewhere near the diving board. Buster was dog-paddling toward the shallow end, looking weirdly pleased with himself.

"Never been better," Marcus said, and realized he meant it. Because Sarah was laughing, and somehow he'd made her laugh, even if it was at his expense. And sometimes, isn't that what being sixteen is all about?