Mission: Splash Protocol

Fifteen-year-old Zara crouched behind theTarget's rhododendrons, GoPro strapped to her helmet like a weapon. Technically she was just the designated neighborhood spy for Mrs. Henderson's runaway poodle situation, but in her head, every mission was covert ops. Capes weren't practical suburban wear, but she'd make do with dramatic flair.

"Buster, you literal menace," she muttered, adjusting her comms earbuds (AirPods, playing her mission playlist on low).

The dog, a chunky pug with zero regard for tactical operations, had bolted toward the Miller's backyard pool party—the social event of the summer. Freshman year had been rough enough without being "that weirdo chasing a dog through someone's sweet sixteen."

Then she saw it: not just any pool party, but THE pool party. Jason from history class was there. shirtless. Zara's brain short-circuited like bad wiring.

Buster, sensing weakness, made a break for it. Zara launched herself over the fence like she'd seen in movies, except movies didn't account for rhododendrons being surprisingly sturdy opponents. She tumbled through, landing directly beside the pool.

"Uh, Zara?" Jason's voice. "Everything... okay?"

She looked up from her undignified sprawl. He was holding—yep, that was definitely her pug, now wearing someone's discarded sunglasses like a tiny canine influencer.

"Mission parameters shifted," she said, standing up and dusting off her dignity. "Retrieval required improvisation."

Someone whooped. "Damn, Jason, your girl's got moves!"

"She's not—" Jason started, but Zara was already snatching Buster and making the tactical retreat of the century.

OnlyMother Nature had other plans. The sky opened up like someone had punched a hole in a water balloon factory. Rain sheeted down, thunder cracking like the world's loudest dad joke. Someone screamed. A jagged fork of lightning split the sky, illuminating the whole chaotic scene in flashbulb white.

"EVERYONE INSIDE!" Mr. Miller hollered. "NOW!"

Jason grabbed Zara's arm. "Come on!"

They bolted toward the house, sliding through wet grass like idiots in a comedy sketch. They crashed through the back door, soaking wet, breathless, Buster still wearing the sunglasses.

Their eyes met. Jason's hair dripped. Zara'sspy cam had fallen off somewhere. Everything was terrible.

"So," Jason said, grinning. "That was... intense."

"Standard operating procedure," she managed. "For. You know. Dog. Stuff."

"Cool." He bumped her shoulder with his. "You should come over sometime. When it's not raining. I mean, if you want. Not as a mission. Unless?"

Lightning flashed again, illuminating his stupid perfect smile.

Zara adjusted Buster's sunglasses. "Mission parameters," she said softly, "can be adjusted."