Shadows By The Poolside

Teenage Tensions

Arielle stomped up the front steps of the Carter house, her schoolbag bouncing against her back as she pushed the door open with more force than necessary. The house was quiet—too quiet—because she knew exactly who was inside and exactly what kind of argument was about to happen. Noah stood in the living room, arms folded, expression pulled tight with disappointment. He had been waiting for her. She could tell from the way he shifted his weight, already bracing himself.

“Where were you?” Noah asked, his tone calm but stern.

She rolled her eyes and dropped her bag on the couch. “Out.”

“No kidding. With who?”

“Why does it matter?” she snapped.

Noah let out a breath, slow and controlled. “Arielle, don’t do that. I saw you leave school with them.”

“So?” She crossed her arms. “Can’t I hang out with people now?”

“You lied,” he said quietly. “You told me you were going to buy a new pen. Next thing I hear, Anna and her crew dragged you to some makeup store.”

Arielle scoffed. “They didn’t drag me. I went because I wanted to. And why are you suddenly monitoring where I go? You’re not my dad.”

That sentence made Noah flinch—she saw it instantly, but stubbornness held her tongue still.

Noah straightened. “I’m not trying to control you, Ari. But Anna and her friends aren’t good people. I’ve seen how they treat others. They don’t care about you.”

“You don’t even know them,” she argued.

“I know enough.” His voice rose slightly. “Arielle, you’re fifteen, what do you need makeup for?”

“I didn’t buy anything!” she shot back. “We were just looking.”

“But why lie?” he asked. “That’s what I don’t get. If you weren’t doing anything wrong, why didn’t you just say it? You always tell me everything.”

“Well maybe I’m tired of telling you everything,” she muttered.

Noah’s jaw tensed. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she said, voice trembling with frustration, “that I feel like you’re watching my every move. I’m not a kid anymore, Noah. I’m allowed to have other friends. I don’t have to hang out with you, Max, and Bryson every second.”

A shadow crossed Noah’s expression—hurt, sharp and unfiltered. “We’re not forcing you to hang out with us.”

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, but the words came out clipped. “You three act like I need babysitting. Like I can’t do anything without your approval.”

“We care about you,” Noah snapped. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No, but this isn’t caring. This is controlling. You’re overreacting about something so small.”

Noah ran his hands through his hair. “Look, I promised Dad. And your mom. They trusted me to look out for you. It’s my responsibility—”

“Well maybe I don’t want you to be responsible for me anymore!”

Silence.

Noah froze like she had slapped him. The hurt in his eyes deepened, and guilt pricked her stomach, but pride held her still.

“Arielle…” His voice was barely a whisper. “That’s not fair.”

She looked away. “I’m going to my room.”

She walked past him, refusing to look back even though her chest felt tight. Noah didn’t follow. He didn’t say another word. The silence behind her felt heavier than anger—like disappointment settling in the air.

The next morning, Arielle left for school alone. Usually Noah waited for her, or Maxwell would knock on the door, or Bryson would yell her name from across the street. But not today. Today she walked in silence, gripping her bag straps tightly.

When she entered the school courtyard, Bryson spotted her immediately. He blinked in confusion when she kept walking without joining their group.

Bryson jogged toward Noah. “What’s up with her?”

“She lied,” Noah muttered, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Said she was going to pick something up after school but went with Anna and the others. To a makeup store.”

Bryson’s face twisted. “Makeup? She’s fifteen. What does she need makeup for?”

“My point exactly.”

“And Anna?” Bryson scoffed. “Of all people?”

Noah didn’t respond. He just stared at the school doors Arielle had disappeared into.

Bryson clenched his jaw, irritation bubbling under his skin. He couldn’t stand Anna. Couldn’t stand the way she and her friends laughed loudly, whispered behind people’s backs, and acted like they owned the school. And now Arielle wanted to be around them?

Not happening.

During lunch, Bryson walked across the courtyard and found Anna’s group under the shaded tree. They were giggling, passing around a phone, but the moment Bryson approached, they all stiffened.

“Hey,” Bryson said, voice sharp. “Stay away from Arielle.”

Anna blinked dramatically. “Excuse you?”

“You heard me,” he said. “You and your little plastic clones. Don’t talk to her. Don’t invite her anywhere. Don’t even look at her.”

Anna smirked. “Why? Is she your property?”

Bryson took a step closer. “I’m serious.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “Relax. We didn’t invite her. She basically begged us to come along, you know? Poor thing. I guess some people get desperate for attention.”

Something snapped inside Bryson. He didn’t remember what he said next, only that his voice got loud, the girls started shouting back, and a crowd gathered. Before he knew it, a teacher grabbed his arm and demanded he come to the office.

By the end of the day, his mother had been called in. She was mortified, apologized repeatedly, dragged Bryson home, and grounded him before he could even explain himself.

Word spread fast.

Arielle heard it all in the hallway—Bryson fighting Anna, getting dragged to the office, his mom showing up—and guilt twisted like a knot in her stomach. During break, she stormed out and found Bryson sitting on the bleachers, staring at the field with crossed arms and a sulking expression.

“What is wrong with you?” she demanded.

Bryson didn’t look at her.

“Why would you confront Anna? Why would you cause trouble like that?”

He remained silent.

“You had no right,” she continued, voice rising. “You don’t control who I talk to. I’m so tired of all of you trying to run my life. If you care about me, then stay out of my business!”

Still nothing.

Fed up, Arielle spun around. “Fine. Just—fine. Stay away from me, Bryson.”

She left, her chest tight with anger and something she didn’t want to name.

Maxwell, who had witnessed the argument from a distance, approached Bryson afterward. When he asked what happened, Bryson exhaled heavily and explained everything—Anna’s insult, the way she mocked Arielle, the way it made something hot and ugly spike in his chest.

Maxwell listened quietly, nodding slowly. “You shouldn’t have fought her,” he said gently. “But… I get why you did.”

Bryson scowled. “Arielle hates me now.”

“She doesn’t,” Maxwell replied. “She just doesn’t know the whole story.”

Later that evening, Maxwell called Arielle. She answered on the second ring, her voice still heavy from frustration.

“Ari,” Maxwell said softly, “Bryson wasn’t trying to control you. He only confronted Anna because she said something awful. She insulted you. That’s why he got angry.”

Arielle froze.

“She what?” Arielle whispered.

“Anna said they didn’t invite you and that you begged them,” Maxwell explained. “Bryson didn’t like that. He reacted… badly, but he was only trying to protect you.”

Silence filled the line.

Maxwell continued, “They care about you, Ari. Even when they’re stupid about it.”

Arielle rubbed her forehead, tears burning behind her eyes. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“No,” Maxwell said. “You’re learning. We all are. But maybe apologize? They’ll understand.”

Arielle sniffed. “Will you help me?”

“Of course.”

The next morning, she woke early and made cookies—burning the first batch, almost crying over the second, and finally getting a third one right. She placed them carefully in a small box and sent Maxwell a message:

“Invite them. Please. I want to fix things.”

Maxwell smiled when he read it.

That afternoon, after school, he casually told Noah and Bryson to come over for games. No one questioned it—Maxwell rarely invited them unless there was a good reason.

They arrived together, knocking on Maxwell’s door. When he opened it, they walked in, expecting controllers and snacks.

Instead, Arielle stood in the living room, hands nervously gripping a box of cookies. She swallowed hard.

“Hi,” she whispered.

Noah’s expression softened instantly. Bryson froze.

“I… made these,” Arielle said, voice trembling. “For you guys.”

Bryson blinked. “You baked?”

“Don’t start,” she muttered, cheeks warming.

Noah stepped forward. “Ari… you don’t have to—”

“I do,” she interrupted. “I was awful to you. Both of you. And I’m really, really sorry.”

Noah exhaled slowly, relief obvious. Bryson rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes.

“I should have listened,” Arielle continued. “You were just trying to look out for me. And I shouldn’t have yelled. Or said the things I said.”

Bryson finally looked at her. “I shouldn’t have picked a fight,” he admitted. “But Anna insulted you. I got mad.”

Arielle’s expression softened. “Thank you for defending me. But don’t get in trouble because of me again… please.”

He nodded.

Maxwell stepped in with a grin. “Now that everybody’s done emotionally traumatizing each other, who’s ready to lose at Mario Kart?”

The tension finally cracked. Noah laughed, Bryson rolled his eyes, and Arielle let out a breath she’d been holding for days.

They spent the next few hours playing games, throwing popcorn at each other, teasing, shouting, laughing—falling back into the rhythm that had always felt like home.

And though no one said it out loud, they all felt it:

They were better together.

Friendship was messy, loud, chaotic—but it was theirs.

And for now, that was enough.