Operation Goldfish

Maya's first attempt at being a spy was failing spectacularly. She crouched behind the rack of vintage band tees at Urban Outfitters, her phone clutched tightly, watching Liam and his new girlfriend browse the denim wall. This wasn't even professional spying — just a freshman girl whose crush had started dating a junior who played padel competitively. Padel. Who even played padel?

"You're being so extra," Zara whispered from the fitting room entrance. "He's a boy, not a covert operation."

"You don't understand," Maya hissed back. "I need intel. It's for... closure."

Her golden retriever, Buster, would be disappointed in her. Not that Buster understood complex human emotions — the dog would probably just be thrilled someone was dropping food. At least the goldfish her dad had won her at the spring carnival didn't judge. Goldfish were superior that way.

She'd almost had it all figured out: Liam liked indie music, the girl was annoyingly perfect, and Maya was going to die alone with forty cats.

Then her pocket buzzed. A text from her mom: "Your dad cut through the cable again. Come home before he tries to fix it himself."

Maya groaned. Her dad, a man who'd once superglued his thumb to a pipe, now believed himself qualified to repair television cables. This was fine. Everything was fine.

She straightened up, her knees popping, and Zara looked at her with those eyes that said I told you so.

"Okay, spy mission aborted," Maya said, grabbing Zara's arm and steering her toward the exit. "Let's go save my dad from electrocuting himself."

As they pushed through the glass doors into the blistering afternoon heat, Maya's phone buzzed again. Liam had posted an Instagram story — him and Padel Girl looking awkwardly at a menu, captioned: "why are there so many sushi options help."

Zara peered over her shoulder. "He's just a boy who can't order food, Maya."

"Yeah," Maya said, a laugh escaping despite herself. "Yeah, he is."

Some things were worth spying on. Some things weren't. And some things — like her dad waving a cable modem like a weapon when she walked through the door — were exactly the kind of chaos she didn't need to investigate to appreciate.

"Maya! Tell your mother the internet's FIXED," her dad shouted triumphantly.

The Wi-Fi symbol on her phone? Still empty. She'd save that investigation for tomorrow.