Operation Goldfish

I was not a stalker. I was a spy. There's a difference.

Spies have a mission. Mine was named Tyler, and he sat three rows ahead in AP Bio, his shoulders broad enough to block half the whiteboard. My mission objectives: observe without detection, survive his presence without hyperventilating, and maybe someday actually speak to him using words instead of awkward nodding.

"You're doing it again," my best friend Kai whispered, sliding into the seat beside me. "The staring thing. It's creepy, Zora."

"I'm gathering intel," I hissed back. "For the mission."

The mission had been ongoing for six weeks. In that time, I'd learned that Tyler chewed his pen when he was stressed, always wore mismatched socks, and had saved a baby bird that had fallen from a tree outside the school last week. I knew this because I'd seen it happen from my "spy position" behind the library window.

I was not proud.

My home life wasn't much better. My mom had decided we needed a pet because "families with pets are more emotionally grounded," which was hilarious because she was literally never home. So now I had a goldfish named Captain Fin who lived in a bowl on my desk, staring at me with what I interpreted as judgment. He knew about my spy activities. He was the only one who did.

"You're pathetic," I told him one night, dropping fish food into his bowl. "You live in a glass prison and still have more game than me."

Captain Fin blew bubbles at me.

Then there was Bull—our neighbor's massive chocolate Lab who'd decided my backyard was his personal bathroom. The first time I'd caught him mid-act, I'd yelled "HEY BULL" and he'd just looked at me like, *What? You gonna stop me?* and continued. I was terrified of dogs. Bull knew this. Bull exploited this weakness.

So my life was: spy on Tyler by day, fear Bull by afternoon, receive judgment from a goldfish by night. A truly balanced existence.

Then came The Incident.

I was "spying" from behind a tree when Tyler suddenly started walking toward me. Not toward the general area of me. Directly at me. Like he knew. Like I'd been made.

*Abort mission*, my brain screamed. *EVASIVE MANEUVERS.*

But my feet didn't get the memo. I stood frozen as he approached, my heart doing something concerning against my ribs.

"Hey," he said. "Zora, right?"

I made a sound that was not technically a word.

"I see you behind that tree a lot," he continued, and I prepared myself for what came next—the stalker accusations, the calling of authorities, the complete and total social death. "Are you waiting for someone?"

"I'm—" My voice cracked. "I'm a spy."

Tyler blinked.

"A what?"

*Abort. Abort. ABORT.*

"I mean, I SPY... with my little eye... something that is..." I gestured vaguely at everything and nothing. "Green?"

He looked down at his shirt. It was green.

"Oh," he said. "Cool." He paused. "I like your socks."

I was wearing mismatched socks. On purpose. Somewhat.

"Thanks," I squeaked.

"Anyway," he said, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to study for the bio test together? Since you're always... around?"

I was going to pass out. I was literally going to pass out and die here beneath this tree, and Bull would probably find my body later and do unspeakable things to it.

"Yes," I heard myself say. "I would... yes."

"Cool." He smiled. It was unfairly nice. "Thursday?"

"Thursday."

I walked home in a daze, pausing only to jump and shriek when Bull bounded around the corner of the fence, tail wagging like he'd been waiting specifically to ruin my moment.

"Not today, you emotional-support nightmare," I told him, stepping around his massive form with newfound confidence. "I have a study date."

That night, I sat at my desk and stared at Captain Fin.

"I think I might retire from espionage," I told him.

Captain Fin did a slow lap around his bowl, which I chose to interpret as approval.

"Yeah," I said. "Me too."