Spying Through Goggles

5 AM practice had me moving like straight-up zombie, limbs heavy, brain still half-asleep. I shoved my goggles over my eyes, the world going blurry and blue, and slipped into the pool. The cold water hit my skin like a slap to the face.

"You're dragging today, Maya," Coach yelled from the deck. "Pick it up!"

I pushed harder, arms slicing through the water. My mom had been on this health kick since my last checkup — spinach smoothies for breakfast (gag), some fancy vitamin supplement that tasted like dirt, and now she was convinced swimming would be my "thing." Whatever that meant.

But the real reason I didn't mind dragging myself to practice? Him.

Jake transferred to our school three weeks ago, and somehow he'd already claimed his spot in the popular crowd without even trying. I'd become a total spy, watching him between laps, memorizing his schedule, learning he had history third period and that he skipped lunch on Tuesdays. Creepy? Maybe. Borderline obsessed? Definitely. But in my defense, he was mesmerizing.

I surfaced from a flip turn, gasping for air, and caught him watching me from the next lane. My heart did this weird flutter thing. He pushed his goggles up and smiled.

"You're fast," he said.

I swallowed water. "What?"

"Swimming. You're like, actually good." He grinned. "I'm Jake, by the way."

"Maya," I managed, my voice sounding way too high.

"Want to race?"

I stared. Jake Rivera, the guy I'd been low-key spying on for weeks, wanted to race ME?

"You're on," I said, ignoring how my hands were shaking.

We lined up, Coach counted down, and we pushed off the wall together. I gave it everything — every 5 AM practice, every spinach smoothie I'd forced down, every moment I'd felt invisible watching him from across the pool. And when I touched the wall, gasping, I realized I'd actually won.

Jake surfaced beside me, laughing. "Okay, damn. You weren't kidding."

Later, as I sat on the pool deck with my legs in the water, Jake sat beside me.

"So," he said, all casual. "You need a ride home? My mom's picking me up."

I looked at him — really looked at him — and realized something. All this time, I'd been the zombie moving through my days, watching life happen to other people, spying on everyone else's moments. But I wasn't watching anymore.

"Yeah," I said, smiling for real this time. "I'd like that."