The Art of Watching People Not Watch You

I was three hours into my shift as a self-appointed social anthropologist (aka: creeper with a purpose) when it happened. Again.

"You're staring at him," Maya whispered, smacking my arm. "You're literally drooling."

"I'm not drooling, I'm collecting data," I said, adjusting my sunglasses. "For the blog. You know, the one nobody knows I write?"

Across the pool, Tyler from the baseball team adjusted his cap, doing that thing where he runs his hand through his hair. The same hair I'd written three separate blog posts about. The same hair I'd accidentally memorized the exact shade of (brown with blonde highlights, not that I was counting).

"You're not a spy, Chloe," Maya said, flipping through her magazine. "You're just a girl who needs a hobby."

Excuse me? I was practically espionage royalty at this point. I knew who sat with whom at lunch. I knew whose Spotify wrapped said they were "sad indie" but whose Instagram said "main character energy." I knew that Tyler's ex-best friend now sat with the theater kids and they both pretended not to watch each other across the cafeteria.

That's basically being a spy. Just with more feelings and less cool gadgets.

A cat—a scrawny, orange tabby that had been showing up at the community center all week—jumped onto the bench next to me. I'd named him The Colonel because he walked around like he owned everything.

"See?" I told Maya. "Even The Colonel respects my work."

"The Colonel is a stray who wants your pretzel."

"The Colonel is a visionary."

Then Tyler got up. I watched him grab his baseball gear from the bag. His team had a game tonight, and suddenly I was running—not away from anything, just... toward something. Not even toward Tyler specifically, but toward the version of myself who wasn't afraid to talk to him.

"Where are you going?!" Maya called after me.

"Operation: Don't Die Alone!" I yelled back.

"THAT'S NOT A REAL OPERATION!"

I didn't stop. I was already halfway across the pool deck, The Colonel watching me with what I'm pretty sure was approval.

Later that night, floating in my actual pool—actual swimming, which I did for actual exercise, thank you very much—I thought about how maybe the real operation wasn't about Tyler. Maybe it was about admitting that I spent so much time watching everyone else because I was terrified of them watching me.

The blog got 500 views that night. My phone buzzed: a DM from Tyler. "Cool post about the baseball game. You were there?"

I typed: "Yeah. I was just... watching."

He sent back: "Cool. Maybe say hi next time."

I stared at my screen. The Colonel meowed from his spot on the windowsill.

"Operation successful?" Maya asked from her sleeping bag on my floor.

"The Colonel says yes."

"The Colonel is not in charge of your love life."

"Pretty sure he's in charge of everything."