The Poolside Investigation

Marcus pulled his baseball cap low, convinced the brim created an impenetrable forcefield of coolness. Around him, the community pool crackled with June energy—the shriek of cannonballs, the smell of chlorine and sunscreen, the endless flex of summer. But Marcus wasn't here to swim. He was here to **spy**.

The target: Chloe, the swim team captain who somehow made a cap and goggles look like a fashion statement. Marcus, fifteen and suffering from terminal crush syndrome, had decided observation was the path to romance. His **iPhone** lay ready on his chair—set to silent, camera app open, because documentation was key. Obviously.

Chloe dove in, slicing through water like she was mad at it. Marcus pretended to examine his fingernails, a technique he'd scientifically determined made him look mysterious and unavailable.

"Dude." His best friend Leo dropped onto the chair beside him. "You've been 'spying' for three weeks. At this point, you're basically her stalker fan club."

"It's not stalking," Marcus said, eyes fixed on the pool. "It's... tactical intelligence gathering. For strategic conversational positioning."

"Chloe's literally swimming laps right now. What intel are you gathering? That she's really fast at water?" Leo cracked open a soda. "Also, you wore that **hat** to school twice this week. People are starting to talk."

Marcus tugged the brim lower. "It's my brand."

"Your brand is 'guy who's definitely going to talk to Chloe next week for sure.'" Leo gestured with the can. "Newsflash: next week never comes, bro. We've been doing this since baseball season started."

That was the problem with falling for someone who lived in water while you lived on solid ground. The more he watched, the more impossible the gap seemed. Chloe was all glide and power, turning the pool into her kingdom. Marcus was just some guy in a too-big hat who'd played **baseball** exactly once and been hit by the pitch.

Then Chloe climbed out of the pool, water streaming off her like she'd stepped out of a music video. She was walking toward him. Actually toward him. Marcus's brain short-circuited. Should he wave? Nod? Look away like he hadn't been staring for twenty minutes?

She stopped at his chair. Water pooled around her flip-flops.

"You know," she said, "if you want to watch me swim, you could just join the team. We need boys."

Marcus opened his mouth. Nothing came out. Leo choked on his soda.

"Also," Chloe added, dropping her voice, "your phone case is really cool. My little brother wants that exact one." She winked—actually winked—and walked toward the snack bar.

Leo stared at him. "Did she just—"

"I think she did," Marcus whispered. His heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to break out. She'd noticed him. She'd noticed him noticing her. And she hadn't called the cops.

"So," Leo said, "are you gonna join the swim team, or...?"

Marcus watched Chloe at the snack bar, laughing with her friends. He adjusted his hat, then took it off and set it on the chair. The brim wasn't hiding anything anymore.

"Yeah," he said. "I think I am."