Orange Cat Confidential

I became a professional spy at 3:47 PM on a Tuesday, right after sixth period chemistry. My mission: observe Maya Rivera from a distance of exactly three lockers down, close enough to memorize how she flicks her hair when she laughs, far enough that she never notices me existing.

I'm not creepy about it. I'm just... thorough. I know she drinks orange Fanta at lunch every day. I know she writes in purple gel pen. I know she has this tiny freckle right above her left eyebrow that looks like a sprinkled star.

What I didn't know: why there was an actual orange cat sleeping on her front porch when I finally decided to ride my bike past her house.

The cat—let's call him Agent Orange—stretched, yawned, and fixed me with these glowing amber eyes. Like he knew. Like he'd been spying on me spying on Maya, and he was judging my technique.

"You're slacking," his expression seemed to say. "Amateur hour."

I froze. This was it. The moment I became that weirdo who stared at people's houses. But then the cat trotted over to the porch railing, nudged a folded piece of paper with his nose, and sat back down looking weirdly satisfied.

My hands were literally shaking when I picked it up. Inside, in purple gel pen: *If you're gonna ride past every day, you might as well say hi. — Maya*

Agent Orange watched me process this, then let out this tiny mrrp sound that was basically cat for "you're welcome, loser."

The next day at school, I accidentally made eye contact with Maya across the cafeteria. She smiled. Not a polite smile. A real one. And then she held up her orange Fanta in this tiny salute, and I think I forgot how to breathe.

The cat had betrayed my cover, but somehow that was okay. Some spy operation.