Poolside Surveillance

I was fully committed to being a spy. Not, like, a cool Black Widow spy—more like a desperate lurker spy hiding behind the potted ficus at Tyler's pool party.

Tyler. Even his name made my stomach do that thing where it forgets how to organ. I'd spent three years perfecting the art of watching him from a distance, which sounds creepy, but listen—there's a fine line between devotion and obsession, and I was toeing it like a tightrope walker over a pool of sharks.

Speaking of the pool, that's where my nemesis Ashley had been holding court for two hours, looking impossibly flawless in a bikini that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe. Tyler was there, of course, because Tyler was wherever the social gravity pulled him. I could see him laughing at something Ashley said, his head tipped back, that perfect dental commercial smile on full display.

I adjusted my oversized hoodie. It was ninety degrees. I was sweating through my t-shirt. This was fine.

"You look like you're plotting someone's murder."

I jumped and nearly knocked over the ficus. Kyle stood behind me, holding a red plastic cup. He was on the baseball team with Tyler, built like a linebacker but with these ridiculously soft brown eyes that made him seem fundamentally harmless.

"I'm not plotting," I lied. "I'm... observing."

"Spying's more like it." He leaned against the wall beside me. "You've been staring at Tyler for, like, twenty minutes."

My face caught fire. "Have not."

"Bro, you literally just flinched when he looked in this direction." Kyle took a sip from his cup. "You know he's talking about baseball camp, right? Like, that's the whole conversation."

"I don't care what they're talking about."

"You care. You care so much." Kyle's tone shifted, got softer somehow. "Why don't you just go over there?"

"And say what? 'Hey Tyler, I know we've had three classes together but I'm pretty sure you don't know my last name, anyway I like your face'?"

Kyle laughed. Actually laughed, not that fake polite chuckle I got from everyone else. "You're kinda intense, huh?"

"I'm NOT intense," I said, way too intensely.

"You're wearing a hoodie at a pool party in July. You're hiding behind a plant. You've got the energy of a bear that woke up mid-hibernation and immediately decided everyone needs to die."

I stared at him. "A bear?"

"A grumpy bear. With social anxiety." He held up his hands. "I'm not judging. Bears are badass. They just... need personal space."

Something about the way he said it—not mocking, just noticing—made something in my chest loosen.

"Oh my GOD," someone shrieked from the pool area.

We both turned. Ashley was standing on the diving board, dripping wet, hair plastered to her face like a mermaid who'd seen better days.

"Something touched my foot!" she screamed. "There's something in the water!"

Everyone rushed to the edge. Tyler actually jumped in. The pool erupted into chaos.

"It was probably a leaf," someone said.

"It felt HUGE," Ashley insisted.

Kyle looked at me, raised an eyebrow, and mouthed: bear.

I cracked up. I couldn't help it. The image of a grumpy bear lurking at the bottom of Tyler's pool, plotting and observing, waiting for its moment to strike against social injustice—it was too perfect.

"What's so funny?" Tyler asked, climbing out of the pool. He was soaking wet, shirt clinging to everything, water dripping from his hair like he'd stepped out of a music video.

"Nothing," I said, which was absolutely something, but I couldn't explain that I'd finally gotten the joke about myself.

"Hey," Kyle said, like it was nothing, "you want to get out of here? There's this ice cream place—"

"YES," I said, before I could overthink it.

We walked away from the ficus, away from the pool, away from Ashley dramatically recounting her brush with death.

"So," Kyle said as we reached the sidewalk. "You gonna tell me your last name, spy girl?"

"Martinez," I said. "And I'm not a spy."

"Whatever you say, bear." He grinned. "Whatever you say."