Operation Goldfish

My life officially became a low-budget spy thriller the day I accidentally liked a photo from 2017.

"You're basically creeping at expert level," Maya said, peering over my shoulder at my phone. "That's three years of scrolling, Zara. FBI should hire you."

"Shut up," I muttered, thumbs still hovering over Tyler's profile. "I'm not spying. I'm... conducting research."

"On what? His transition from braces to retainer? His goldfish's growth trajectory?"

I groaned. For context: Tyler Nguyen had been my lab partner since seventh grade, but over the summer he'd transformed from 'guy who occasionally sets the sink on fire' to 'guy who makes my stomach do actual gymnastics.' The problem? I had zero clue if he saw me as Friend Zara or Potential Girlfriend Zara. Hence, the social media reconnaissance.

Operation Goldfish — codenamed after his actual pet, a depressed-looking fish named Bubbles — was supposed to be strategic. Not creepy. Okay, maybe a little creepy.

Then came the incident. The Great Like Disaster of 2023.

I'd been lying in bed, doomscrolling at 2 AM (terrible idea, do not recommend), when my finger slipped. Heart stopped. Notifications: Tyler Nguyen liked your comment.

But I hadn't commented. I'd liked a post from June 2019. A post featuring fourteen-year-old Tyler holding a trophy. A participation trophy.

"He's gonna know," I told Maya the next morning, spiraling. "He's gonna think I'm unhinged. I'm unhinged, Maya. Who likes a participation trophy from four years ago at 2 AM?"

"You're overthinking it. He probably won't even —"

"Zara?"

We both froze. Tyler stood there, holding a leash. An actual golden retriever puppy wobbled beside him, looking like a cloud with legs.

"This is... Biscuit," Tyler said, scratching the back of his neck. Exactly the way he did when he blew up the sink. "My sister's dog. She made me walk him."

"Cute dog," Maya said, elbowing me. "Zara was just talking about dogs."

"I wasn't —"

"You like dogs, right?" Tyler asked, and something in his voice — hope, maybe? — made my chest feel weird.

"Yeah," I managed. "I, uh, saw your post. About Biscuit."

"From 2019?"

Silence. The kind where you can hear your own heartbeat in your ears.

Then Tyler smiled. Not the polite smile. The real one.

"I was wondering when you'd find that one," he said. "I was going through old photos and saw you'd liked it. Figured maybe you were... I don't know. Looking?"

My face was definitely the temperature of the sun. "Research."

"For what?"

"Chemistry," I blurted. "Lab partner stuff."

"Right." He grinned. "Well, Biscuit needs to walk more. And I kinda suck at chemistry. You wanna... I don't know. Walk the dog with me sometime?"

Maya made a sound like a dying kettle.

"Sure," I said, trying to play it cool. Totally failing. "That would be... not terrible."

"Cool." He started walking away, then turned back. "Hey, Zara?"

"Yeah?"

"Bubbles died last year. Just so you know. In case you were still doing... research."

He winked. Actually winked. Then walked away with a cloud-dog who was currently eating a stick.

Maya grabbed my arm. "He knew. He knew you were lurking and he thinks it's cute. This is the best day of your life."

"I hate both of you," I said, but I was smiling.

Operation Goldfish: success. Even if the fish was dead and the dog wasn't even his.

Some spy thriller. 10/10 would creep again.