The Art of Not Looking

My palms were sweating through my baseball grip, which was honestly embarrassing because I wasn't even playing — just sitting in the bleachers trying to look like I belonged. The hat pulled low over my eyes helped. At least that's what I told myself.

"You're literally doing that thing again," Maya whispered, nudging my shoulder. "The spy thing. Where you watch Tyler without actually watching him."

"I'm not spying," I hissed, even though we both knew I was absolutely spying. "I'm strategically observing. There's a difference."

The sky was turning that insane orange color that only happens during perfect summer sunsets, the kind that makes everything feel like a movie scene. Tyler was by the concession stand, laughing with his friends, his baseball cap backward because apparently that's the universal sign for Cool Teenager.

Maya handed me her half-eaten orange. "Here. Squeeze this. It'll help with the nervous energy."

"I'm not nervous," I said, taking it anyway. "I'm just... processing."

"You've been processing for three weeks, Lena. The homecoming dance is in literally two days. Either you're gonna talk to him or you're gonna spend the entire night strategically observing from the corner while holding up the wall."

She wasn't wrong. That was literally my plan.

Tyler started walking toward the bleachers and I nearly choked on my orange wedge. My palms were officially in emergency-level sweat mode. This was it. The moment I'd been overanalyzing in my head for approximately eighty years.

"Hey," he said, stopping at our row. "You going to the game tomorrow?"

I somehow formed words. "Yeah. Probably. I mean — yes. Definitely."

"Cool." He smiled, and it was worse than I imagined because it was genuine. "Save me a seat?"

As he walked away, Maya looked at me with that I-told-you-so expression that makes you want to both hug and punch your best friend simultaneously.

"Strategic observation complete," I whispered, grinning like an idiot. "Mission accomplished."

"You're welcome," she said. "Now please wipe your hands. You're getting orange juice everywhere."