Wettmelons -

“WETTMELONS!” she yelled again, this time with gusto.

She reached the other side, gasping, victorious. Maya was already there, howling.

“There’s always space,” Selene said, surprising herself. “You just have to be willing to look like a drowning duck for a minute.” WettMelons

Selene’s palms were slick with sunscreen and nerves. She stood at the edge of the public pool, staring at the warped reflection of her sixteen-year-old self in the shimmering water. Around her, the soundtrack of summer played on: the shriek of a toddler, the thwack of a volleyball, the low, thrumming bass of a lifeguard’s whistle.

And there, under the lantern-lit sky, on a beat-up float shaped like a fruit, two teenagers who’d been too afraid to jump in finally started to swim. “WETTMELONS

Leo Castellano. He’d just moved to town, all sharp elbows and quiet eyes. He was floating on a simple blue ring, a book balanced on his chest, trying to read by the lantern light.

He closed his book. “Why?”

“Can I join the WettMelons crew?” he asked.

He splashed back.

He smiled. A real one. Then, he did something unexpected. He pushed off his blue ring, let it drift away, and grabbed the edge of her chipped watermelon.

There was a beat of silence, filled by the lapping of water and the distant crackle of a bonfire. Around her, the soundtrack of summer played on: