The Last Mission

The text came through at 2:47 AM, glowing against my face in the darkness of my bedroom.

TARGET: EMMA. OPERATION: FINAL CHECK-IN.

I'd been playing this stupid spy game with Jordan since sixth grade. We'd sneak around school, document "evidence" on our iphones, and report back like we were undercover agents protecting national security. But tonight felt different.

The stray cat we'd dubbed Sphinx — because she stared at us with ancient, knowing eyes from Mrs. Henderson's porch — meowed as I slipped past. "Shh, Sphinx," I whispered. "This is classified."

Emma's window was dark. Emma, who used to be my best friend before Jordan moved here and everything got complicated. Emma, who'd been distancing herself since eighth grade started, who now sat with the popular kids at lunch and barely acknowledged my existence.

I wasn't really a spy. I was just a kid who couldn't let go.

Sphinx wound around my ankles, purring. I checked my phone. Jordan had texted:

she's probably sleeping. maybe we should just go home.

But I needed to know. Needed to see if Emma was okay, if she was happy, if she ever thought about me like I thought about her.

Then Emma's window lit up. She was FaceTiming someone, laughing, happy. And I realized — with a hollow feeling in my chest — that she didn't need saving. She wasn't a mission. She was just growing up, and I was still stuck playing pretend games.

Jordan appeared beside me. "You see?" he said quietly.

"Yeah," I said. "I see."

Sphinx meowed again, and I scratched her head.

"Ready to go?" Jordan asked.

"Yeah," I said. "But Jordan?"

"What?"

"I think I'm done being a spy."

He smiled. "Yeah. Me too."

We walked home under the streetlights, leaving childhood behind us one step at a time.