Surface Tension

The water in Miller's pool shimmered like spilled gasoline, all rainbow ripples and chemical perfection. I adjusted my sunglasses—necessary camouflage for Operation Get The Scoop.

"You're actually doing this?" Lena had texted me at 3 AM. "Find out if Tyler likes me. I need to know before Monday."

So here I was, playing spy while clutching a bag of chips like they were top-secret documents.

Tyler emerged from the pool house, hair still wet from practice last night, wearing those ridiculous checkered Vans he never took off. My stomach did that thing—that lurch, half excitement, half dread. Because here's the thing about spying: sometimes you discover things you weren't supposed to know.

He spotted me by the snack table and raised his hand in that half-wave that meant either "sup" or "I see you standing there awkwardly, please help."

"Maya," he said, dripping chlorinated water everywhere. "You're Lena's friend, right?"

"That's me," I said. "Friend. Ally. Information broker."

Wait—I hadn't said that last part out loud, had I?

But Tyler just laughed. "Tell her I said hey. And tell her..." He trailed off, watching a splash contest erupt in the shallow end. "Tell her I'm not good at this stuff. The whole texting thing. I'd rather just talk. Like, in person."

My phone buzzed in my pocket. Lena, probably asking for updates.

"Hey," I said to Tyler. "What if—what if you told her yourself?"

He looked at me, really looked at me, and for a second I felt like the spy who'd been caught, except I wasn't the one hiding anything anymore.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I should."

I walked away from the pool feeling lighter than I had all day, the mission accomplished but somehow completely different than I'd planned. Some things, I decided, weren't meant to be discovered from behind sunglasses. Some truths only surfaced when you stopped watching from the sidelines and dove right in.