The Slider

Marcus stood at the edge of the pool, clutching his baseball glove like a lifeline. The end-of-summer party raged behind him — bass thumping, seniors grinding, someone definitely throwing up in the bushes — but he couldn't make himself move.

"You coming in or what?" called Jenna, floating in the deep end with her friends. She'd looked at him exactly twice today. Both times had been monumental.

"Yeah," Marcus said. "Just warming up my arm."

Stupid. So stupid. He hadn't played baseball since eighth grade, when he'd taken a line drive to the face and discovered his swimming career was way more valuable to his scholarship prospects than middle school infield dreams. But the glove made him feel like less of a fraud. Like he wasn't just the kid who'd won state in the 200-meter freestyle but still couldn't talk to girls without rehearsing conversations in his shower.

Tommy materialized beside him, beer in hand, because Tommy had zero chill. "Bro, you've been 'warming up' for twenty minutes. Jenna's literally waiting."

"I know," Marcus hissed. "I'm strategizing."

"Your strategy is looking like a creeper holding a baseball glove at a pool party. It's giving 'trying too hard energy.'"

Marcus groaned. "This is why I stick to swimming. At least when I'm drowning, there's a logical reason."

"Then get in there. Cannonball. Make a splash. Literally."

Marcus looked at his glove. Looked at the water. Looked at Jenna, who was now laughing at something Tyler said — Tyler, who had somehow removed his shirt without looking like a complete dork.

Fine.

He dropped the glove on a lawn chair and sprinted toward the pool, launching himself into the air with everything he had. The cannonball was legendary. Water displaced everywhere. Jenna shrieked. Tommy whooped like he'd personally engineered the moment.

Marcus surfaced, spluttering, to find Jenna right there. Treading water. Smiling.

"Finally," she said. "I was about to come get you."

"Just working on my entry," Marcus said, shaking wet hair from his eyes. "Swimmer habits."

"Well, you definitely made an impression." She splashed him. "So, baseball player, can you actually play, or is that just for the aesthetic?"

Marcus laughed. The panic in his chest had dissolved into something lighter. "Used to play. Now I just do this." He gestured at the pool. "Way less concussions."

"Show me your stroke sometime," Jenna said, and maybe he was imagining it, but she sounded like she meant it.

"Yeah," Marcus said, treading water beside her. "I can do that."

Behind him, Tommy gave him a thumbs-up from the edge. Marcus flipped him off underwater. Everything was going to be fine.