The Poolside Imposter

I felt like a total **spy** at Blake's pool party. From behind my oversized sunglasses, I cataloged every social move—tipping my head back at exactly the right laugh angle, holding my red Solo cup with casual ease. My old middle school self would've been hyperventilating in the bathroom, but new Marcus? He had this down.

"Hey, new Marcus!" Maya, the girl I'd been crushing on since freshman orientation, appeared beside me at the snack table. "You're actually hanging out with the popular crew. Never thought I'd see the day."

I froze. Did she know I'd been watching their TikToks for weeks, studying their inside jokes and handshakes like cramming for a final? That my "chill energy" was actually rehearsed?

"Yeah, just vibing," I managed, while internally screaming.

She pointed at my hand. "What's with the **vitamin** bottle? You're at a party, not CVS."

My face burned. My mom made me take them—said puberty plus growth spurt meant I needed extra whatever. Being the guy who brings vitamins to a rager was officially not chill.

"Long story," I deflected.

The TV in the pool house blared old episodes of *The Office*, everyone yelling along to the jokes. Someone complained about the HDMI **cable** being loose again.

"You're good with tech, right Marcus?" Blake called over. "Can you fix it?"

This was it. The moment. Fix the cable, cement my status in the group. But Maya's eyes were on me, really seeing me, and suddenly all the performative coolness felt like wearing a costume three sizes too small.

"Actually," I said, setting the vitamin bottle on the table, "I'm kinda over watching TV. Anyone wanna play chicken fight in the **pool** instead?"

Blake blinked. The popular crew exchanged looks. But then Maya grinned—like, actually grinned—and before I knew it, I was being carried on someone's shoulders, splashing water everywhere, my sunglasses lost somewhere underwater, not watching from the sidelines anymore but actually, finally, living it.