Operation: Third Wheel

The problem with being the friend who always knows everyone's business is that sometimes you know too much. Like right now, watching Tyler—my literal crush since seventh grade—feed actual goldfish crackers to Mia's golden retriever while she laughs like it's the funniest thing anyone's ever done.

I'm crouched behind the gymnasium dumpster with Sammy, who thinks we're being totally stealth. Sammy's the one who called this recon mission. 'Bro,' he'd said earlier, 'someone's gotta scope out if Tyler's gonna make a move at Maya's party tonight.' So here we are, basically spies, except instead of international intrigue, it's teenage romantic drama.

The dog—Buster, apparently—is going to TOWN on those crackers. Tyler's hand brushing Mia's arm has my stomach doing gymnastics. Not the cool Olympics kind. The 'I might throw up' kind.

'We need a closer look,' Sammy whispers, and I'm about to hiss 'no way' because we're already pushing our luck, but then Buster spots us.

One minute I'm mentally calculating how many days of social suicide we're facing, and the next, this sixty-pound fur missile is charging. Sammy books it. I freeze—classic panic response—and suddenly I'm face-to-snout with a very excited dog who smells like cheese and bad decisions.

Tyler and Mia are looking over now. Great. Perfect. This is fine.

'Buster! Down!' Mia rushes over, grabs the dog's collar. 'Oh my god, are you okay?'

I'm on the ground, dog drool on my hoodie, dignity absolutely gone. 'Totally fine,' I manage, which is a lie. My face is burning hot enough to power the school for a week.

Tyler helps me up, smiling in that way that makes my brain short-circuit. 'You guys spying on us?'

'Spying? No. We were just... walking. Behind the gym. Normal activities,' I say, and wow, I need to work on my undercover game.

Mia's grinning like she knows exactly what's up. 'Well, since you're here anyway—want to come to Maya's with us? We're heading over now.'

Sammy reappears from wherever he bailed to. 'Yeah, we'd love to.'

Later that night, Maya's basement is thumping with bass I can feel in my teeth. Tyler's sitting next to me on the couch—actually next to me, not just nearby—and we're talking about nothing and everything. My phone buzzes. It's Sammy: 'mission accomplished or what'

I type back: 'mission accomplished' and turn off my phone. Sometimes the best reconnaissance is when you stop watching from the edges and actually step into the picture.

Also, Buster got more crackers. Sometimes the dog really does win.