Palm Prints and Secret Lives

Maya's palms were sweating—like, actually dripping—as she gripped her iPhone behind her back. Connor from AP Bio was walking toward her, and she was definitely not ready to have that conversation about the Instagram DM she'd accidentally sent at 2 AM. The one that said "your hair looks really good today" when they'd literally never spoken.

"Hey, Maya!" Connor's smile was unfairly bright. "You coming to Jordan's party Friday?"

"Yeah! Probably! Maybe!" Her voice cracked. Smooth.

Maya's emotional support chihuahua mix, Pickles, chose that exact moment to escape her backpack and sprint toward Connor, barking like she'd personally trained him to humiliate her. The drama level was off the charts.

"Whoa, little dude!" Connor laughed, scooping up Pickles like it was the most normal thing ever. "Cute dog. What's his name?"

"Pickles. He's... emotional support."

"Facts. I get that." Connor's expression shifted, suddenly serious. "Hey, can I ask you something? Don't make it weird, but... are you, like, a spy?"

Maya almost dropped her phone. "What?"

"I saw you taking pictures of that old bear statue behind the school every day this week. Through the fence? With the telephoto lens?" He gestured vaguely. "It's giving investigative journalism. Or actual spying. Either way, it's low-key badass."

Maya felt her face burn hotter than her screen after three hours of TikTok scrolling. "I'm not spying! I'm doing an art project! For... reasons!"

"Cool, cool." He handed back Pickles, who immediately tried to eat Maya's homework. "Anyway, Friday? Be there?"

"Yeah. I'll be there."

"Bet." Connor fist-bumped her—a real fist-bump, skin against skin—and Maya realized her palms had stopped sweating. Sometimes the worst moments weren't actually disasters. Sometimes they were just beginning.

Her iPhone buzzed. Connor from AP Bio (he'd given her his contact info last month when they partnered on that lab) had followed her on Instagram.

Pickles barked, and Maya laughed, finally breathing again. Being a teenager was embarrassing, but maybe—just maybe—it wasn't entirely terrible.