Sweaty Palms and Spying Apps

Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her jeans, leaving dark streaks on the denim, but her hands just kept producing more evidence of her anxiety. The whole cafeteria seemed like a surveillance operation—everyone with their phones held up like weapons, ready to capture any moment of awkwardness and broadcast it to the world.

"You good?" Jayden slid onto the bench across from her, setting down his tray with a clatter.

Maya jumped. "Yeah. Just... overthinking."

"About what?"

She hesitated. About how she felt like she was living in a reality show where everyone was a spy armed with TikTok accounts and zero hesitation. About how running used to be her escape—literally, on the track team—but now even that felt performative. Post your runs. Share your splits. Document every sweaty moment for the algorithm.

"My palms are just gross," Maya said instead. "Nerves, I guess."

Jayden shrugged. "You ran a killer race yesterday. Coach was hyping you up all through practice."

The compliment caught her off guard. Jayden was the kind of guy who dated girls who knew how to pose, who understood the subtle art of looking effortless while putting in maximum effort. Maya was not those girls. Maya was the girl who tripped over her own feet during warmups and whose hair refused to stay in a ponytail.

"Thanks," she managed, and something in her chest did this weird flutter thing that she chose to ignore.

"So." Jayden leaned in, voice dropping. "I saw your post from the meet. The one where you're stretching?"

Maya froze. "Oh god. Was it cringe?"

"Nah." He grinned, and his smile was different from his curated social media one—more crooked, less perfect. "It was cute. Also, your form is terrible."

"Hey!" Maya laughed, and the knot in her stomach loosened enough for her to breathe again. "I'll have you know that was artistic stretching."

"Right. That's totally what that was." He glanced at her hands, then back up. "Your palms are still sweating, by the way."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying." Jayden picked up his apple, but he was still looking at her. "If you're nervous about regionals, don't be. You've been running like a beast lately."

Maya realized something then: Jayden wasn't spying on her like everyone else seemed to be. He was actually paying attention. The difference mattered.

"Not nervous about regionals," she said, and it wasn't a complete lie anymore.

"Good. Then you won't mind if I challenge you to a race after school?"

Maya's pulse kicked up, but not from anxiety this time. "You're going down, Cohen."

"We'll see, Torres." He bit into his apple, still grinning. "We'll see."

As she watched him walk away, Maya thought maybe this whole high school thing wouldn't be so bad. As long as she kept running—both literally and away from overthinking every little thing.

And maybe, just maybe, she'd stop worrying about who was watching and start noticing who was actually seeing her.