The Pool Table Protocol

Summer before sophomore year, I was the self-appointed captain of nothing. Marcus had been promoted to varsity quarterback, Jenna got her license, and me? I mastered the ancient art of the cable splice.

"Dude, you're literally obsessed," Marcus said, bouncing on his heels while I threaded coaxial through the attic vents.

"It's not obsession. It's economic justice." I wiped sweat from my forehead. "The cable company charges eighty bucks for basic. I figured out how to get it for free."

Okay, maybe it was slightly obsessive. But when your parents set a strict "no allowance" policy and your crush's dad owns the local electronics store, you get creative.

The setup was flawless: a spliced line from the neighbor's subscription, routed through my bedroom closet, emerging behind my dresser. I called it Operation Underground Railroad. My mom called it "that thing that's going to get us arrested."

Then came the pool party at Jenna's—my shot at finally making a move after three years of friendship-zone purgatory. I showed up wearing my lucky swim trunks (the ones with the tiny palm trees that definitely weren't cool anymore) and enough anxiety to power a small city.

"Hey!" Jenna waved from the pool's edge, water droplets glistening on her shoulders like something out of a movie I definitely shouldn't be watching with my parents in the room. "You coming in or what?"

I froze. Marcus and the varsity crew were doing cannonballs off the diving board. Tyler, who'd already hooked up with half the sophomore class, was doing that thing where he treaded water with his hands while casually talking to girls.

I stood there, realizing I didn't know how to swim. Not like, couldn't-swim-at-all, but couldn't-swim-without-looking-like-a-drowning-rodent. And everyone was watching.

"Actually," I said, voice cracking exactly the way teenage voices crack in movies but somehow funnier in real life, "I think I saw something wrong with your cable setup. Outside."

Jenna stared at me. "What?"

"Yeah, your dad's probably losing signal. I should check it."

Marcus surfaced, gasping. "Bro, it's literally ninety degrees. You're gonna go play cable guy instead of swimming with Jenna?"

The weight of my own patheticness hit me like a physical force. I was hiding behind technical expertise, avoiding the pool because I was scared of looking uncool, scared of rejection, scared of actually being seen.

"You know what?" I said, surprising myself. "Forget the cable."

I jumped in wearing my lucky trunks. I doggy-paddled like a champion. I swallowed chlorinated water. I accidentally splashed Jenna's perfectly curled hair.

And she laughed. Not the mean laugh, but the real one.

"Finally," she said, splashing back. "I was wondering how long you were going to stand there being weird about your cable fixation."

Later that night, my dad knocked on my door. "Neighbor's TV went out. Something about a splice?"

"Economic justice," I mumbled into my pillow.

"We're paying the bill, genius. And you're grounded."

Worth it.