Washed Up

The chlorine stung my eyes as I surfaced, gasping. Marcus's pool party raged above me, muffled by the **water**, but I stayed under. Anything to avoid explaining why I was fully clothed at a pool party in July.

My **iPhone** vibrated in my soaked pocket—probably Mom asking if I'd made friends yet. Spoiler: I had not. Unless you counted the inflatable **palm** tree floating near me, which currently had more game than I did.

"Hey!"

I broke the surface, wiping my face. Skylar stood poolside, holding a **baseball**. THE baseball. The one I'd accidentally thrown through her bedroom window two weeks ago when I was practicing my "impressive" pitches for her benefit.

"You dropped this," she said, smirking. "Also, why are you fully dressed in my cousin's pool?"

"Heat stroke?" I lied poorly.

"Uh-huh." She sat on the edge, feet in the water. "You know, normal people just say 'I'm awkward' instead of committing to the bit."

"I'm not awkward."

"You're literally doing a backstroke in jeans right now, Ty."

Fair point.

"My phone died," I admitted, treading water. "Panic mode activated."

"So you decided to test if iPhones can swim? Bold move."

"Science demands sacrifice."

She laughed, and the sound made my chest do that stupid flutter thing. Skylar Martinez had been ruining my life since seventh grade, and I was definitely not into it.

"Get out, you prune," she said, standing up. "My cousin has a rice cooker. We'll save your dignity AND your phone."

"My dignity's past saving."

"Maybe." She grinned, and something in her expression shifted. "But the phone's probably salvageable."

I hauled myself out, dripping everywhere, feeling ridiculous but somehow lighter. Sometimes the worst moments aren't the end of the world—they're just the beginning of something better.

"Your throw's gotten better, by the way," she said, walking away.

I stood there, soaked and smiling. Yeah. Maybe tonight wasn't a total disaster after all.