The Ethernet Stalker

Maya's fingers hovered over the keyboard as the ethernet cable connected her laptop to the world. She wasn't hacking anything—she was just...

"Researching," she whispered to herself, clicking through Instagram stories for the third time that hour.

Ever since Jordan transferred to their school, Maya had become a professional at the art of social media reconnaissance. She knew Jordan's coffee order (oat milk latte with extra foam), their favorite music (80s synthwave), and that they hung out at the padel courts every Friday after school.

"You're literally being a creep," her best friend Chloe had said earlier that day, scrolling through Maya's phone. "This is obsessive behavior."

"It's not obsessive," Maya protested, though her cheeks burned. "It's... thorough background research."

"It's spying, Maya. You're spying on them."

The word hit harder than Maya wanted to admit. She wasn't some creepy spy from a bad teen drama. She was just a girl who didn't know how to talk to the cute new kid without making things weird.

But Chloe was right. The cable modem blinked at her like a judgmental eye. She was sixteen years old, not some secret agent conducting surveillance.

Friday afternoon found her at the community center, rental padel racket in hand, heart pounding like a bass drum. The courts were crowded—lots of kids from school, the familiar hierarchy of jocks and theater kids and everyone in between.

Jordan was there, laughing with some friends by the fence, wearing that oversized cable-knit sweater Maya had seen in their posts.

"Hey!" Jordan called, spotting her. "You play?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. "Uh, not really? I mean, I'm trying to—"

"We need a fourth for mixed doubles," another kid said. "You down?"

"Yeah," Maya heard herself say. "Yeah, I'm down."

The game was chaos. Maya missed serves, tripped over her own feet, and accidentally hit the ball into the next court. But Jordan laughed with her, not at her, and high-fived her when she finally managed a decent shot.

"Not bad for a beginner," Jordan said afterward as they sat on the bench, sharing a water bottle.

"I was terrible," Maya groaned, but she was smiling.

"You were having fun though. That's what matters." Jordan paused. "Hey, I've seen you around school. You're in Mr. Harrison's English class, right?"

Maya's stomach did that annoying flippy thing. "Yeah. We're reading The Great Gatsby."

"Ugh, that book is depressing." Jordan made a face. "Hey, some of us are going to this indie show tomorrow night. You should come."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Unless you have to... conduct more research?" Jordan's eyes twinkled like they knew something.

Maya froze. Had Jordan seen her staring? Had they noticed the way she always seemed to be nearby?

But Jordan just smiled, genuine and warm. "I'm kidding. Unless you do have research?"

"No research," Maya said, and for the first time in weeks, she wasn't lying. "Just... me."