The Pool Raid Mission

The coaxial cable behind my TV had been frayed for months, leaving my screen fuzzy right when Jax texted the group chat: *Pool raid. Midnight. Be there.*

My cat Loki gave me that judgy look from my bed like he knew I was absolutely not built for midnight adventures. I'd been crushing on Maya since seventh grade, and she was going to be there. This was my shot.

"You coming or what?" Jax whispered from outside my window, throwing pebbles like we were in some cheesy movie.

I grabbed my swim trunks and climbed out the window, feeling like a total spy on a covert mission. The neighborhood was dead quiet except for distant crickets and the hum of streetlights. My heart hammered against my ribs—part thrill, part I'm definitely going to get arrested.

The Petersons' pool glowed with that eerie underwater blue. Maya was already there, hair wet, laughing at something Tyler said. My stomach did that stupid flip thing.

"Finally!" Maya called when she saw me. "We were betting you'd chicken out."

"Never," I lied, stripping down to my trunks while everyone watched. The air hit my skin and I remembered I was pale as hell and had zero abs. Whatever.

The water was shockingly cold, but in a good way. We splashed around trying to be quiet and failing spectacularly. Maya kept looking at me, or maybe I was just projecting, but then she splashed me right in the face and we were underwater, holding our breath, grinning at each other like idiots.

Mr. Peterson's motion light suddenly flooded the yard with blinding white.

"SCATTER!" someone hissed.

We grabbed our stuff and bolted toward the fence. I was last, barefoot on the grass, when I saw it—Mr. Peterson's prize garden gnome collection. One was a bear in a tutu.

"Sorry, bear dude," I whispered, snatching it. Why? I don't know. Teen brain logic.

We ran four blocks before collapsing behind the convenience store, chests heaving, unable to stop laughing. Maya sat next to me, our shoulders touching.

"You stole a bear gnome," she said, like she couldn't decide if I was crazy or brilliant.

"It spoke to me."

"You're weird, Max."

"Yeah."

"I like weird."

I lay there staring at the stars, clutching a ceramic bear, thinking maybe I didn't need to be anyone but myself. Sometimes the best nights aren't the ones you plan—they're the ones where you almost get caught and end up with a tutu bear and a girl who thinks you're weird in the right way.