Playlist Surveillance

I'd been a low-key spy for three months, tracking Jayden's Spotify activity like it was my actual job. Every Tuesday at 7 PM, without fail, he'd listen to that same indie playlist—something about moody teenage angst and suburban ennui. I knew his music taste better than I knew my own homework schedule.

Now here I was at Maya's pool party, hiding behind a potted palm tree like some kind of socially awkward tropical creature, watching Jayden laugh with the volleyball team. My palms were sweating so bad I could practically irrigate a small garden. This was supposed to be my moment—finally talk to him after months of digital reconnaissance.

The pool water glittered like someone had spilled a galaxy across the backyard. Everyone was swimming, splashing, existing with that effortless confidence I'd been faking since seventh grade. I adjusted my oversized t-shirt, suddenly very aware that I was the only person not in swimwear.

"You blocking the palm's Instagram shot?"

I jumped. Jayden was standing there, dripping wet, hair plastered to his forehead like he'd just emerged from some alternate universe where hot people casually approach awkward girls hiding behind foliage.

"I—what?"

"The tree," he grinned, pointing. "Maya's been trying to get aesthetic palm content all night."

My brain short-circuited. "Oh. Sorry."

"Don't be." He leaned against the tree beside me, close enough that I could smell chlorine and whatever cologne he'd applied with way too much confidence. "I'm hiding too. Team Anti-Social represents."

I stared at him. The Jayden from my surveillance operation—the one with the moody playlists and emotional lyrics—suddenly made sense.

"You hate parties," I said.

"Despise them. All this swimming in shallow conversation? Exhausting." He studied my face. "You're the girl from AP Bio. You sit by the window."

"You noticed."

"I notice things." His phone buzzed. He groaned. "My mom wants me home. Apparently family dinner is non-negotiable." He pushed off the tree. "Hey, what's your name?"

"Zoey."

"Cool, Zoey. Same time next week? Maya's having another one of these socially exhausting gatherings."

"Maybe," I said, feeling something unclench in my chest. "If I'm done spying on palm trees by then."

He laughed, and the sound was better than any playlist I'd ever stalked.

Walking home, I deleted my search history. Some things were better discovered in person anyway.