Orange Bull Protocol

Maya spent every lunch period performing surveillance on Jordan Rivera — which was a fancy way of saying she'd mastered the art of looking like she was texting while actually studying his movements across the cafeteria like a wannabe spy. Jordan, with his wind-mussed hair and that smile that probably made teachers forget to assign detention, moved through the social hierarchy like it was gravity, not effort.

Maya had the Vitamin Water routine down to a science. She'd arrive fifteen minutes early, claim her corner table behind the pillar, and arrange her multicolored bottles like some kind of wellness altar. The vitamins weren't even hers — her mom was going through that phase where everything could be cured with supplements and positivity. But nobody needed to know that. In the ecosystem of high school, appearing like you had your health together was almost as good as actually having your life together.

"You're doing it again," Harper said, dropping into the seat across from her. Maya's best friend had developed a sixth sense for Maya's reconnaissance missions.

"Doing what?"

"The thing where you stare at Jordan like he's a rare species of exotic bird and you're the world's most determined ornithologist." Harper ripped open a bag of chips. "Just talk to him."

"And say what? 'Hi, I've been low-key tracking your movements since September and I think your hair looks good in both natural and fluorescent lighting?' That's not flirting, Harper. That's a restraining violation waiting to happen."

The school mascot — a jersey-wearing bull named Buster — lumbered past their table, high-fiving everyone except Maya, who instinctively shrank away. Bulls were supposed to represent school spirit and unstoppable determination. To Maya, they just looked like massive creatures that could flatten you without noticing.

"He's looking over here," Harper announced, already packing up her lunch. "I'm giving you space. Use it wisely, or I'm forever calling this the Vitamin Incident."

Maya's heart launched into overtime. Jordan was weaving through the tables, actually approaching, and her brain promptly abandoned ship. What had started as harmless observation had somehow spiraled into something that felt suspiciously like having feelings, which was absolutely not part of the protocol.

"Hey," Jordan said, sliding into the chair Harper had vacated like it was the most natural thing in the world. "I've been meaning to ask — is that orange Vitamin Water actually good? I keep seeing you with it."

Maya stared at him. All that time performing careful analysis of his habits, his friends, his schedule, and somehow the spy had become the subject. The fake vitamins, the staged observation, the whole carefully constructed operation — undone by a question about flavored water.

"It's... okay?" she managed. "I mostly just like the color."

Jordan's smile widened, genuinely amused. "That's fair. I'm Jordan, by the way."

"Maya."

"Nice to finally officially meet, Maya. I've been wondering why you always pick the worst table in here." He gestured toward the pillar. "There's literally a draft."

"It's strategic," she said, surprising herself with honesty. "Good sightlines."

"For what?"

"Knowing things."

Jordan laughed, and it was better than the cafeteria version she'd watched from across the room for months. "Well, now I know something too — you're terrible at picking lunch spots. Want to move somewhere that doesn't require a jacket inside?"

Maya looked at her vitamin shrine, the bull mascot high-fiving someone in the distance, Harper watching from three tables over like a proud parent.

"Yeah," she said, standing up. "I think I'm done with surveillance anyway."

"Cool." Jordan fell into step beside her. "Also, for the record — I've been meaning to talk to you since homecoming. I was just waiting for the right opening."

Maya almost stopped walking. The spy, it turned out, had been the one under observation all along.

"Well," she said, feeling something dangerously like hope rising in her chest, "you definitely picked the worst possible approach."

"Hey," he grinned. "I'm learning."

Somewhere behind them, Harper definitely fist-pumped. Maya didn't need to look to know.