The Spy in Lane 4

6 a.m. and I'm basically a **zombie**. My phone's blowing up with the squad group chat—everyone's making plans for the weekend that doesn't involve being awake before the sun—but here I am, staring at the **water** that's way too calm for someone who got four hours of sleep.

Coach Miller blows that whistle like she's trying to shatter eardrums. "Alright people, let's see what you've got! You think the competition's sleeping in? They're not sleeping in! They're training RIGHT NOW!"

I slip into the pool, the cold shocking me awake. **Swimming** has always been my thing—my escape, my meditation, the one place where my brain actually shuts up for five seconds. But lately, even the water can't drown out the noise.

Because here's the thing: I've become a total **spy**.

Every morning at 6:15, the baseball team shows up at the field next to the aquatic center. And every morning at 6:15, I "accidentally" swim breaststroke near the edge of the pool where I can sort of see through the fence.

It's pathetic. I know it's pathetic. My best friend Jasmine literally said to me yesterday, "Bestie, you're not being subtle, you're being creepy." But I can't help it. There's something about the way Lucas adjusts his cap, the way he laughs at whatever his teammate said, the absolute dedication he throws into every practice swing like his whole heart is in it.

Today, I notice he keeps looking toward the pool.

I pretend not to see. I pretend I'm just doing my laps, focused on my technique, dead silent in the water. My heart's doing this weird thing where it's trying to escape my chest, which is NOT ideal for breathing.

"Hey!" someone yells.

I surface, sputtering. Lucas is at the fence, baseball cap in hand, looking annoyingly perfect in the morning light.

"You're Maya, right? From English?"

I nod like a normal person would, except I'm not a normal person, I'm a wet person in a swimsuit being talked to by The Boy.

"Cool," he says. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to—"

"PRACTICE ISN'T OVER!" Coach Miller's voice echoes across the pool. "STAY FOCUSED!"

Lucas laughs. "Right, yeah. I'll catch you later."

He jogs back to the field, and I dunk my head underwater so I can scream without anyone hearing.

Tomorrow, I tell myself. Tomorrow I'll actually talk to him. Tomorrow I won't be a zombie, won't be a spy, won't be this person who doesn't know how to exist in the world.

But today? Today's for swimming. Today's for the quiet rhythm that makes sense, even when nothing else does.