Wettmelons

“It’s degrading,” Selene muttered, adjusting the strap of her second-hand one-piece.

“No problem,” Selene squeaked.

Selene winced. The bet. A stupid argument about who could hold their breath longer while doing calculus in their heads. She’d lost. The price? She had to swim the length of the pool using only her elbows, screaming “WettMelons” at the top of her lungs.

“It’s legendary ,” Maya corrected, grinning. “Think of the lore.” WettMelons

He closed his book. “Why?”

“You’re the WettMelons girl,” he said. Not a question.

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

“WETTMELONS!” she shrieked, the sound gurgling out of her.

Kids used her float as a launching pad. Old Mr. Henderson, who never spoke to anyone, drifted past on a flamingo and tipped his captain’s hat at her. And then, he appeared.

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

“I moved here three weeks ago,” he said. “I’ve been sitting in my room, thinking everyone already has their friends, their stories. That nobody leaves space for a new guy.”

He drifted into her.