The Goldfish Operation

I felt like a total goldfish—gaping mouth, zero composure, three-second memory span where coherent thoughts should be. Because there he was: Mateo at the padel court, sweat dripping down his temples like he was starring in a sports commercial instead of just playing PE.

"Earth to Zara," Lena whispered, elbowing me. "Your staring is getting creepy."

"I'm not staring," I lied. "I'm conducting reconnaissance."

"You're being a creep. There's a difference."

Lena didn't understand. This was Operation: Get Mateo To Notice My Existence Before Graduation, and I was essentially a spy now. A spy with zero training and rapidly diminishing dignity, but still.

The problem: Mateo moved in circles I couldn't access. His friends were the school's social pyramid—varsity jackets, weekend parties, inside jokes I'd never decode. Meanwhile, I was firmly in the "quiet kids who eat lunch in the library" demographic. Not exactly a dating profile that screamed ROMANCE.

But fate works in mysterious ways. Or, in my case, ways that involved Mr. Henderson pairing us up for the Egypt project.

"You're with Mateo," Henderson announced, and I swear the entire sphinx of Giza couldn't have posed a more impossible riddle than: what do you say to your crush when you're suddenly alone with him in a library after school?

"Cool," I managed. Goldfish brain fully activated.

We met at the library on Tuesday. Mateo showed up with a crumpled notebook and an energy drink.

"So," he said. "Sphinxes."

"Riddles," I said. "Secrets. Mystery."

"Dude got eaten for guessing wrong," Mateo nodded. "High stakes."

I laughed before I could stop myself.

"What?" He grinned. "I'm funny."

"You're okay, maybe. Like, sixty percent funny."

"Sixty? I'll take it. That's a passing grade."

Something shifted. The pyramid between our worlds didn't exactly crumble, but maybe—just maybe—I'd found a loose brick I could pry at. And for the first time, I didn't feel like a goldfish at all. I felt like someone who might actually swim in the right direction.