Operation Orange

I was literally a zombie. Like, actual walking dead status. Three days of finals, zero sleep, and now I'm crouched behind a vending machine like a total creep, spying on Carlos from the Yearbook Club. He was laughing with Sarah by the orange lockers—those hideous things the school painted in a "refreshing citrus theme" that just made everyone look like they were trapped inside a Creamsicle.

This wasn't even my idea. Maya dared me. "You've been staring at him all semester," she'd said. "Either talk to him or I'm staging an intervention."

So I chose option C: become a weird lurker in the cafeteria. Brilliant.

Carlos ran a hand through his dark hair, catching my eye for a split second. I ducked. Smooth. Absolutely smooth.

"Nice hiding spot," a voice said behind me.

I jumped like six feet and almost face-planted. Carlos was standing there, looking equally exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, his usual perfect hair slightly messy. He held out a bag of Takis.

"Want one? I'm basically a zombie too. Finals are killing me."

My brain short-circuited. "I—I wasn't—"

"Spying?" He grinned. "Chill. I noticed you. It was kinda cute."

KINDA. CUTE. The hottest guy in tenth grade just called my awkward lurking CUTE.

He nodded toward the orange lockers. "I was gonna come over earlier, but you seemed... busy. Being mysterious."

"I'm never mysterious," I groaned. "I'm just awkward and sleep-deprived."

"Same," he said. "Wanna go get orange juice at the café? We can be awkward together."

And just like that, my spy mission crashed and burned in the best way possible. We walked out of the cafeteria, two zombies on a quest for juice, and I caught Maya's eye across the room. She gave me a thumbs-up.

Operation Orange was a complete disaster. And I couldn't wait for the next one.