“Any minute, they’ll be here.”

We sit on our towels, arranging and rearranging our legs, trying to look relaxed and graceful. I want to bite my nails, I’m so nervous. I raise my fingers to my mouth and then see the flowers on them and smile instead. I look great, I tell myself. I can almost swim, at least underwater, and my dog’s alive. My parents are together, even if it’s only for a couple of hours.

Any food? Diesel strolls over, sniffs, and then licks at my palm. Salty. Yum.

“Do you want to go in for a swim?” Morgan asks.

“Do I ever. But I don’t want to look like a drowned mouse when those girls get here.”

“Don’t dive under. Just glide over the top.”

Easy for her to say. I haven’t mastered floating yet. Still, I don’t want to sweat, either. Maybe now is the time to try. I jump to my feet and step down the pool stairs. Morgan follows.

Me first for safety. Diesel pushes past me and begins circling through the water. I walk slowly. Three steps, four. Ahh! The water reaches my waist, only mid-thigh on Morgan.

“Hello?” a voice calls from the other side of the gate.

“Rawf!” Diesel barks hello back.

“Just lift the latch. It’s not locked,” Morgan calls.

I imagine those girls walking in to see me skimming gracefully through the water and jump in the rest of the way, sending my arms ahead in a breaststroke. At the same time, my legs kick back froggy-style. It feels good, cool, smooth.

Suddenly, a huge crash sends waves of water over me. I cough and reach my feet for the bottom so I can stand and breathe. Too deep. I sink down. No, no! I windmill my arms. My legs don’t work in time with them. I want to scream, but nothing comes from my mouth except bubbles.

Diesel barks. I’m here for you. He swims next to me.

That makes me come out of my panic enough to realize, Hey, I’m underwater now. I can definitely swim here. I point myself toward the shallow end, swim one arm’s length, and stand up.

Tom’s flattened red hair surfaces first, then the rest of his head, his eyes, nose, and grin. He sputters water everywhere like some kind of seal. “Hi, Morgan. Naomi.”

“What …” I splutter.

“Hi, Tom. Where’s Simon?” Morgan asks.

“He’ll be here in another five, with the others.” Tom swims like he dives, loud and splashy.

“Simon?” I repeat.

“Wouldn’t be a party without him. Am I right?” She winks.

“You said this was just a get-together with friends,” I say to Morgan.

“Don’t worry,” Tom says. “No one posted it on the internet. It’s just us and a few girls.”

That’s why the cool girls are coming. Not because we invited them to swim with us, but because Simon will be here. Still, Morgan says Simon likes me. They won’t ignore me. Not if he pays attention to me. Morgan says … but is she really 100 percent reliable or does she just need me along while she makes a play for Tom?