Operation Vitamin Bear

I'd been spying on Tyler Matthews for three weeks before he caught me.

Okay, maybe "spying" is dramatic. I was strategically observing from behind my AP Bio textbook while he sat two tables away in the cafeteria, being effortlessly gorgeous. Maya from English called me out on it immediately.

"You're being creepy," she said, sliding into the seat across from me. "Just talk to him like a normal person."

"I'm not ready for direct contact," I protested. "I'm in the reconnaissance phase."

Maya rolled her eyes so hard I worried they'd get stuck. "You're not a spy. You're a sophomore with a crush. There's a difference."

The problem wasn't just Tyler. It was everything about sophomore year — the shifting friend groups, the unspoken rules about who sat where, the way some people just naturally knew how to exist while I felt like I was constantly auditing my own behavior from the outside. My older sister Jordan had dropped a vitamin bottle on my desk that morning: "New supplements. Mom's orders. You look pale."

I hated how Jordan noticed everything.

Friday night, the football game against our rivals (their mascot was a bull, which felt unnecessarily aggressive) changed everything. Tyler was there, wearing his varsity jacket like a crown. I was wearing my school spirit hoodie, clutching a suspiciously orange vitamin gummy my sister had forced on me pre-game because "your immune system is trash, Lila."

"Hey, Lila!" Tyler said, materializing in front of me. His eyes were the exact color of the sky on a perfect day. "Having fun?"

"Yeah, totally," I managed, despite suddenly forgetting how words worked. "Just, you know. Taking my vitamins."

I held up the gummy like it was the most normal thing in the world. Tyler laughed, and it was better than winning.

"You're weird," he said, but not like it was bad. "Wanna hang out?"

Later, walking home with Maya (who'd witnessed everything and would never let me forget it), I felt like I'd somehow passed a test I didn't know I was taking. The bull on our rival's banner hung defeated in the distance. I'd survived. Maybe high school wasn't about being smooth — maybe it was about finding people who liked you even when you accidentally propositioned them with vitamin gummies.

"So," Maya said. "Are you finally going to stop spying on him?"

"Probably not," I admitted. "But I might upgrade from strategic observation to tactical conversation."

She threw an arm around my shoulder. "Progress, Lila. Progress."