Operation Goldfish

The padel court at the rec center was neutral territory — or at least that's what I told myself when I started showing up there every Friday. **Spying** on Maya and her squad wasn't my original plan, but when your crush unknowingly becomes your assignment target, you roll with it.

My golden retriever, Buster, was technically my cover. "Just walking the dog," I'd say, gesturing vaguely at the yellow furball who was actually passed out on the bench like he owned the place. The older ladies cooing over him definitely bought it. Maya's friends? Definitely not.

The problem wasn't that I was some socially awkward loser. Okay, maybe a little. But I was freshman class vice president, I ran track, and I'd successfully convinced my parents that a **goldfish** would be "low maintenance" (RIP Finstein, died mysteriously three days later). I had game.

Maya just existed in a different tier. She played varsity tennis, had that effortless I-woke-up-like-this hair situation, and somehow made everything look cool. Even when she shanked a padel ball into the fence and literally everyone stopped to stare, she just laughed, flipped her hair, and kept playing. Confidence level: infinite. Mine: currently negative.

"You know," said Chloe, Maya's best friend, sliding onto the bench next to me while Maya debated sprite vs. lemonade at the vending machine, "Buster is like, the cutest **dog** I've ever seen. Also, we've literally seen you here every Friday this month. Just saying."

I nearly choked on my own spit.

"I — what?"

She grinned. "Relax. Maya thinks you're cute too. She's been playing trash padel on purpose so you'll notice. You're welcome for the intel."

I stared at her. Then at Maya, who was currently giggling at something while deliberately missing an easy shot. Then back at Chloe.

"Wait, really?"

"Really," she said, already walking back to the court. "But maybe actually talk to her next time instead of playing FBI agent with your dog as a prop. Just a thought."

Buster chose that moment to wake up, stretch dramatically, and woof at absolutely nothing. The older ladies sighed in unison. Maya glanced over, caught my eye, and smiled.

Game on.