Operation Papaya

I'm not a stalker. I'm a reconnaissance specialist. That's what I told myself every Tuesday and Thursday when I sat three tables away from Kyle in the cafeteria, strategically positioned behind a pillar like some kind of undercover operative. My best friend Priya called it creeping. I called it intelligence gathering.

The mission: infiltrate Kyle's inner circle before junior year ended. The obstacle: my complete lack of game.

Operation smooth was underway until *she* showed up. Jessica. With her perfect highlights and her obvious crush on Kyle. And then came the betrayal—she brought papaya salad to the school's international food day. I'd heard Kyle mention he loved it over summer camp, but I hadn't made the connection until now. She'd done her recon. She'd gathered intel. She was winning.

Meanwhile, my recon involved my golden retriever, Buster, who had zero concept of stealth. The same dog who'd publicly humiliated me by humping Mrs. Peterson's poodle during our evening walk last week. The same dog who'd eaten my history homework. The same dog who, at this exact moment, had spotted a squirrel near our surveillance position and was preparing to launch.

"Buster, no," I hissed, gripping his leash. "We're covert. We're shadows. We—"

Buster barked. Like, full-on, I-mean-business barking. Kyle looked over. Jessica looked over. Half the cafeteria looked over. And there I was, caught in 4K, basically admitting I'd been watching them.

"Hey," Kyle said, walking over with that effortless smile that made my stomach do backflips. "Isn't that Buster? The homework-eater?"

I wanted to die. Instead, I nodded. "Yeah. That's him. The notorious homework destroyer."

"My dog ate my lab report once," Kyle laughed. "Totally get it." He paused. "You coming to the spring carnival?"

My brain short-circuited. "Maybe?"

"You should. Jessica's bringing papaya salad again. It's actually pretty good." He winked. "But between us, I like the store-bought stuff better. Less... experimental."

I felt something shift. Like, maybe the cool perfected version wasn't always what guys wanted. Maybe papaya salad didn't need to be fancy to hit different.

"I'll be there," I said, and for the first time all year, I wasn't spying. I was just showing up.