Not a drizzle. Not a summer sprinkle. A torrent —the kind of rain that bends trees and turns lawns into instant lakes. Everyone screamed, grabbing cushions and phones. Marcus didn’t move. Within seconds, he was soaked. But so was everyone else. The kiddie pool overflowed. The Band-Aid washed onto a rose bush.
He looked down at his neon swim trunks, now legitimate attire. He looked up at the soaked, shivering partygoers clutching half-melted cheese plates. awkward. torrent
Then, the sky broke.
He stood at the edge, holding a bag of chips, as eight other guests in linen shirts and sundresses sipped rosé on lounge chairs, fully dry. His toes curled over the concrete. Awkward was a gentle word for this. Not a drizzle
The invitation said “pool party,” so Marcus showed up in neon swim trunks and flip-flops. The backyard, however, held a kiddie pool—the hard plastic kind with a fading cartoon fish on the bottom. Three inches of tepid water. A single floating Band-Aid. Everyone screamed, grabbing cushions and phones
