Messages in Water

Maya pressed the phone against her chest, heart doing that frantic flutter thing it always did when His profile pic popped up. The orange hair. The crooked smile. The way he'd liked her story exactly 47 seconds after she posted it.

"You're literally spying on him," Nina said, not looking up from her own phone. "That's seventh-stage creep behavior, bestie."

"I'm not spying," Maya protested, though she absolutely was. "I'm... conducting research. Strategic observation."

"Right. And I'm the Sphinx of Giza." Nina finally looked over. "Just text him already. It's been two months."

Two months since Maya had transferred to Northwood High and spotted him in AP Bio, sitting by the window with that galaxy of freckles across his nose. Two months of watching, waiting, overanalyzing every tiny interaction like he was some puzzle she couldn't solve.

The cafeteria incident replayed in her mind for the thousandth time. She'd been brave enough to try papaya for the first time—exotic, different, exactly the kind of person she wanted to be—and it'd ended up everywhere. Down her front. All over her brand new white converse. Everyone staring.

Except him.

He'd just smiled, all crooked and understanding, and passed her a napkin.

"He's got to have some flaw," Nina continued. "Nobody's that perfect. Maybe he kicks puppies. Maybe he collects miniature spoons. Maybe—"

"Maybe he's got a goldfish memory and won't remember I exist tomorrow," Maya said softly.

"Or maybe he's waiting for you to make a move." Nina stood up, grabbed her tray. "Life's short, Maya. Don't spend it watching from the sidelines."

Outside, the sky was painting itself in those impossible sunset colors that made everything feel like a movie. Maya's phone buzzed. A notification. From Him.

*Hey, I noticed you reading that sci-fi series in the library. Have you gotten to book three yet?*

The Sphinx had finally spoken. And riddle solved—he'd been watching her too.