You were already halfway through your third lap around the aquapark when the lifeguard gave you that look. Not the stop running look—more like the what is she even doing look. You had just convinced your friends to race you down the giant yellow slide, except you’d decided halfway down to spin around backwards, screaming at the top of your lungs about “winning” even though you were completely facing the wrong way.

When you shot out of the slide into the pool, you stood up like it was a runway and threw your hands up. “Ten out of ten, no notes!” you announced. Your friends laughed, used to the chaos. Everyone else stared like they weren’t sure if you were serious or just insane.

That’s when you noticed them—the group leaning near the snack bar, dripping wet and laughing. Pogues. You knew the type just by the way they stood, all trouble and confidence. And right in the middle of them? A blonde guy, tan, smug smirk plastered on his face. JJ Maybank. If the Pogues were a storm, he was lightning—fast, bright, dangerous. He was also, you realized instantly, basically you. But in boy form.

He was watching you. Not subtly. And when your eyes met, he didn’t look away.

“Nice form on that slide,” he called out over the noise, smirk deepening. “Real professional.”

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Yeah, thanks. I train for the Aquapark Olympics every year. Big deal, you wouldn’t understand.”

He raised his brows like he was impressed, but it was more of a let’s see what you do next kind of look.

So you did what any normal, rational person would do—you cannonballed straight into the pool without warning, soaking two random people nearby. Your friends groaned. You popped up, grinning. “What? They looked hot.”

JJ laughed—loud, sharp, like he’d just seen someone break every rule and didn’t care. “You’re a menace,” he said.

“And you’re not?” you shot back.

His friends were watching now, some whispering. Your friends too. It felt like one of those moments where the whole place faded into background noise. Two people who were way too similar, circling each other without even moving.

You climbed out of the pool, dripping, brushing your black wavy hair out of your face. “Try to keep up, Maybank,” you tossed over your shoulder as you walked past.

From behind you came his voice, amused and certain: “Oh, I will.”