Summer Surveillance

The chlorine smell hit me first—that unmistakable indoor pool scent that always gave me a headache. But I wasn't here for swimming practice anymore. I hadn't been since the Incident, when Marcus accidentally posted that screenshot of my DM to his Story. Yeah, we're still not talking about it.

Now I was basically a professional spy. Not the cool kind with gadgets, just a sixteen-year-old hiding behind a potted plant in the rec center, watching my former best friend live his best life without me. Pathetic? Absolutely. Necessary? Also yes.

"You look like you're plotting someone's murder," a voice said behind me.

I jumped. Literally jumped. It was Riley from my history class, holding a padel racket and somehow managing to look effortlessly cool in sweatpants.

"I'm just... observing," I said, which sounded creepier than I intended.

"Marcus?" she nodded toward the pool area where my ex-friend was showing off his diving skills for an admiring crowd. "We all do it. Post-breakup reconnaissance. It's basically a rite of passage."

We weren't dating. But somehow this felt worse.

"Want to get out of here?" Riley asked. "My padel partner bailed, and I need someone who's genuinely terrible at the sport so I don't feel bad about myself."

I laughed. For the first time in weeks, I actually laughed.

"I'm spectacularly bad at sports," I warned her.

"Perfect."

As we walked to the courts, my phone buzzed. A notification from Marcus's close friends story—another perfect moment, another reminder of everything I wasn't part of anymore. This time, I didn't open it. Sometimes the most powerful thing you can do is stop watching from the sidelines and start playing your own game.

Even if you suck at it.

"So," Riley said, tossing me a racket. "Friend rule: if you accidentally hit me in the face, you have to buy me bubble tea."

"Deal," I said, already feeling like I could breathe again.