The Night I Stopped Spying

I'd been spying on Leo from across the cafeteria since September, but tonight I was actually gonna talk to him. Jordan's house party — the perfect chance. My palms were already sweating through my denim pockets.

"You're being such a bull about this," Mia said, handing me a Solo cup. "Just talk to him."

"I'm NOT being a bull. I'm being... strategic."

"Strategic like a fox?" She raised an eyebrow. "More like strategic like a kid who's gonna chicken out."

She wasn't wrong. I'd built up this whole version of Leo in my head — smart, funny, probably deep — based on absolutely nothing but watching him read during lunch and that one time he held the door open for Mr. Henderson.

The party was already popping. Someone had dragged a folding table into the backyard for beer pong, and the bass was thumping through the walls. I spotted Leo almost immediately, sitting on the back porch steps alone.

"Now or never," Mia whispered, pushing me toward the door.

My heart was doing that weird fluttery thing that felt like tiny lightning strikes in my chest. I grabbed another cup for courage.

When I reached the porch, Leo looked up and our eyes locked. He wasn't on his phone or anything — just sitting there, watching the party unfold through the screen door.

"Hey," I managed. "I'm Riley. We have English together."

"Yeah," he said, smiling. "I've seen you. You always sit by the window."

HE'D noticed ME? All those months I'd thought I was the spy, but maybe I'd been the one being watched the whole time.

We talked for an hour about everything — Mr. Henderson's terrible dad jokes, how we both hated group projects, our favorite awful movies. He was funny and sarcastic and nothing like the quiet serious guy I'd imagined.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked suddenly.

"Sure."

"I've been wanting to talk to you forever, but I never knew what to say. You always seemed like you had everything figured out."

I laughed so hard I almost spilled my drink. Me? Having things figured out? That was the funniest thing I'd heard all year.

"I literally shake every time I have to present in class," I admitted.

"No way."

"One hundred percent. Ask anyone."

He held out his hand. "Show me your palm."

"What?"

"Palm reading. I looked it up on YouTube. I can tell your future."

I showed him my hand, my palm still kind of sweaty. He traced the lines with his finger, pretending to be serious.

"This line says you're going to stop being scared and start actually living. And this one..." He smiled. "This one says you're gonna give me your number."

I did. And I didn't even have to spy on him from across the cafeteria anymore.