The Spy at the Pool

I felt like a total spy, crouched behind the pool house with my phone clutched in my sweaty hand. Summer was supposed to be chill, but here I was, spying on Maya's party like a total creep because my invite got "lost in the mail." Yeah, right.

The smell of chlorine mixed with someone's grilling — papaya salsa, apparently, because I kept hearing people say how "exotic" it was. I'd never even tried papaya. Was that weird? At sixteen, you're supposed to have experienced everything. First kisses. First parties. First papayas.

I watched from my hiding spot as everyone jumped in the pool, swimming like synchronized dolphins or something. They all moved together, some unspoken rhythm I'd never mastered. My therapist said social anxiety was like learning to swim — you have to trust you won't drown. But what if you were drowning and everyone else just thought you were doing some cool new dance?

My phone buzzed. Mom: "Did you take your vitamin D supplement?"

I almost threw my phone against the fence. Of course. The vitamin obsessed mother while I'm literally having an existential crisis behind a pool house. But then I thought about how she always said vitamin deficiencies made everything feel harder. Maybe she wasn't completely wrong.

"Hey!"

I froze. Levi, Maya's older brother, stood there holding a paper plate. "You want some papaya or what? Been watching you lurk for like five minutes."

He knew. The burning shame of being caught mid-spy operation.

"I... I wasn't..."

"You want to come in or not? Maya's looking for you, actually. Said your invite got mixed up with someone else's."

The bear in the room — the massive awkward situation I'd been bearing down on myself — suddenly lifted.

"Wait, really?"

"Dude, I'm literally standing here with papaya salsa. Do you want in or not?"

I took the plate. The papaya was actually pretty good. And the pool wasn't as scary as I'd built it up in my head. Sometimes you just have to stop spying on your own life and actually jump in.