The Riddle at Reynolds Pond

The baseball team's end-of-year pool party at Reynolds Pond was supposed to be legendary. Coach said it'd be "straight fire," but I was mostly just dreading the part where anyone—everyone—would find out I couldn't swim.

I'd been faking it for years. Doggy paddle here, casual lean-against-the-wall there. But this was different. This was the whole squad, plus Julia Chen, whose fox-red hair caught the sunlight like something out of a dream. She'd moved here in April and already had the entire student body figured out.

"You're not getting in the water?" Kevin called out, doing a cannonball that displaced half the pond. "Don't be such a wuss, Ramos."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," I said, attempting what I hoped passed as a casual lounge against the snack table. My heart was hammering like I'd just stepped up to bat with bases loaded.

Julia appeared beside me, holding a soda. She had this way of looking at you, like she could see through every defense mechanism, every carefully constructed lie. A modern sphinx, minus the riddles and the stone wings.

"You know," she said, voice low enough that only I could hear, "I take lessons at the YMCA. Tuesdays and Thursdays. With the little kids."

I blinked. "What?"

She smirked. "Your secret's safe with me. But seriously, their program is actually decent. The instructor's this grandma who used to compete professionally, and she doesn't let anyone quit until they're not terrible anymore."

"You're—you're not making fun of me?"

"Dude, I was in your position last year. Nearly drowned at my cousin's birthday party because I was too proud to admit I never learned." She gestured toward the pond. "Baseball's cool and all, but not swimming? That's kinda embarrassing."

I stared at her, then back at the pond where my teammates were having the time of their lives. Something in my chest loosened.

"Tuesdays and Thursdays?" I asked.

"Six PM. Bring your own goggles." She winked. "And hey, if you're actually good by next season, maybe you won't be the only one who can't make it across the pond without clutching the wall like it's your ex."

I laughed—really laughed—for the first time all day. Julia Chen, fox-haired solver of problems I hadn't even admitted I had. Some sphinx. Her riddles weren't riddles at all. They were invitations.

"I'm in," I said, and meant it.

She nodded once, satisfied. "Good. Now get in there before Kevin starts another chicken fight tournament without you."

I took a deep breath, walked to the edge, and jumped.