The Accidental Spy

The humidity was absolutely wrecking my hair.

I'd spent twenty minutes with the straightener that morning, but by seventh period, my frizzy curls had staged a full rebellion against gravity. I caught my reflection in the bathroom mirror—why did ninth grade have to be this awkward?

"Yo, Maya!" Marcus appeared behind me, baseball cap pulled low. "You coming to the game?"

"Definitely not," I said, attempting to tame a particularly wild section of hair. "I have better things to do than watch you guys lose again."

"That's cold." He grinned. "Real cold."

What I actually had planned was sitting behind the bleachers with my phone, completing my self-appointed mission as amateur spy. Tyler from AP English had asked me to find out whether Jenna from chorus actually liked him, and I was determined to get results. This was what passed for excitement in my life.

The baseball field was packed by the time I positioned myself at my surveillance post. The sun glared off the metal bleachers as players took their positions. Through the gaps in the seating, I had a perfect view of Jenna talking to her friends in the concession line.

I zoomed in with my phone camera, feeling like a total creeper but also kind of exhilarated. This was important work. Tyler was basically in love.

Then Jenna laughed at something her friend said, running a hand through her perfect, non-frizzy hair, and I felt a sudden wave of annoyance. Why did everything have to be so effortless for some people?

"Nice hiding spot."

I nearly dropped my phone. Marcus stood there, drinking water like he hadn't just given me a heart attack.

"What are you doing here? You're supposed to be playing baseball."

"Coach pulled me out. I'm garbage." He flopped down beside me. "Also, I saw you spying. Who's the target?"

I hesitated, then confessed everything—Tyler, Jenna, my role as detective.

Marcus stared at me. "You're doing recon for Tyler? That guy called me 'bro' three times today. I didn't even know his name until now."

"That's the point!" I protested. "He needs help!"

"Or"—Marcus finished his water—"he could, I don't know, talk to her like a normal person."

We sat there watching Jenna laugh with her friends, the baseball game continuing in the background. Suddenly, my phone buzzed. A text from Tyler: 'Any updates??'

"You know what?" I stood up, brushing grass from my jeans. "Tyler's right. This is stupid."

"Where are you going?"

"To tell him to do his own spying."

I didn't get far. Jenna was walking toward us, leaving her friends behind. My heart did that nervous flutter thing it always did when something important was about to happen.

"Hey," she said, looking between us. "I saw you guys from the concession line. You hiding back here?"

"Just... appreciating the shade," Marcus managed.

"Cool." She turned to me. "You're Maya, right? From English? You wrote that essay about identity? It was really good."

My brain short-circuited. She remembered my essay?

"Thanks," I said, suddenly aware of my frizzy hair, my awkward positioning, my entire existence.

"Anyway, I heard you might know Tyler from AP English?" She stepped closer, lowering her voice. "Could you tell him I was gonna ask for his number, but I got nervous?"

I stared at her. She was nervous about Tyler? Tyler, who had three different stress balls and organized his binder by color?

"I... yeah. I can tell him."

"Thanks!" She smiled, perfect and effortless, and walked back to her friends.

Marcus looked at me, then back at the field.

"So," he said. "How's that spy gig working out?"

I pulled my hair into a messy ponytail, letting it do whatever it wanted.

"I think," I said, "I'm retiring."