Operation Insta-Stalk

Maya's thumb hovered over the follow button for the third time tonight. The blue light from her phone illuminated her face in the dark bedroom, casting ghostly shadows that made her look like some kind of digital ghost. This was technically her seventh consecutive hour of deep-‌research, which in normal human language meant she'd been cyber-stalking Jordan's profile since school ended.

"You're being a total creep," her best friend Priya had texted at 10:47 PM, back when Maya still had dignity.

"I'm not stalking," she'd replied. "I'm gathering intel. There's a difference."

"You're literally a spy at this point. A spy who needs to sleep."

Priya wasn't wrong. Maya had become a master of reconnaissance—knowing Jordan's coffee order (oat milk latte, two pumps vanilla), his weekend habits (skateboarding at the park with his crew), and apparently now, according to the story he'd just posted, he'd started taking those gummy vitamins that supposedly helped with focus.

Focus. Right. That was exactly what Maya needed.

Outside her window, Mr. Henderson's golden retriever Barnaby let out the most pathetic whine in the history of canine distress. Maya's stomach did that annoying thing where it felt simultaneously hollow and heavy—she'd promised to walk him two hours ago, back when she was only on hour five of her Jordan investigation marathon.

She pulled on her hoodie and slipped out the back door, phone still clutched in her hand like some kind of emotional support device. Barnaby greeted her with the enthusiasm of a dog who'd been waiting approximately one thousand years for relief, his tail thumping against the fence with such rhythmic persistence that Maya wondered if he was secretly keeping time to a song only he could hear.

"Yeah, yeah, I know," she muttered, clipping on his leash. "I'm the worst."

They walked their usual route—past the perfectly manicured lawns of suburban perfection, under streetlights that cast everything in a weird, dreamlike orange glow. Maya's phone buzzed with a new notification.

Jordan had posted again. This time just a mirror selfie at what looked like a convenience store, captioned: "Vitamin run because apparently I'm falling apart in my old age 🧓🏾"

Maya actually stopped walking. Barnaby gave her a look that clearly communicated he had opinions about her life choices.

The convenience store. The one right there. The one they were standing in front of.

Her heart rate did something concerning. "Okay Barns," she whispered, "we're doing this. We're being normal people who make normal choices."

Except that as soon as she pushed open the door, the little bell dinged, and there he was. Jordan. In real life. Holding a bottle of the same gummy vitamins from his post, looking at her with this expression that was half recognition and half genuine confusion.

"Maya?" He grinned, and oh god, it was worse than she'd imagined. "What are you doing here so late?"

Barnaby chose this exact moment to sneeze violently, spraying dog snot onto Jordan's sneakers.

"My dog," Maya said intelligently. "He needs... things?"

Jordan laughed, and it sounded like actual music, not the metaphorical kind that people wrote in terrible fanfiction. "Cool dog. Those vitamins are actually pretty good, by the way. If you're interested in not falling apart like me."

"I'll keep that in mind," Maya managed, her face approximately the temperature of the sun.

They walked out together. Barnaby acted like he'd never met another human being in his entire life, which was technically sort of true. Jordan didn't seem to mind the dog snot situation, which Maya filed away as extremely important information for future analysis.

"See you at school tomorrow," he said, before adding, "Maybe save me some gummy vitamins if you decide to join the falling apart club."

Maya watched him walk away under the orange streetlights, Barnaby sitting calmly at her side like he hadn't just ruined and possibly made her entire life in the span of three minutes.

"You're fired," she told him. "As my wingman. You're absolutely fired."

Barnaby just wagged his tail, because dogs, as a general rule, did not respect workplace hierarchies.

Back in her room, Maya deleted her spy-level stalking history. Tomorrow she'd just talk to him like a normal person. Probably.

Okay, realistically, she'd check his profile at least one more time. But baby steps.