The Spy Who Caught Her Own Reflection

Maya's phone buzzed against her thigh, another group chat notification she'd ignore. She was busy. Important business.

She'd been **spying** on Liam for three weeks now—not in a creepy way (okay, maybe a little creepy), but strategically. Lunchtime bench positioning. Locker route analysis. Determining his order at Joey's Pizza (pepperoni, extra cheese, never mushrooms).

Today, Operation Talk to Him was finally GO.

"Your **hair** looks different," said Zara, dropping onto the bench beside Maya. "Did you... straighten it?"

Maya's hand flew to her hair. She'd spent forty-five minutes with a flat iron that morning, trying to look effortless. "No."

"You totally did." Zara bit into a **papaya**—like, who even ate papaya in the school cafeteria? "You're trying too hard. Just be yourself."

Easy for Zara to say. Her hair always looked perfect without trying. Meanwhile, Maya had calculated twelve different conversation starters and abandoned them all.

Then she saw him.

Liam sat at a table across the cafeteria, surrounded by his friends. He ran a hand through his messy brown hair—effortless, natural, perfect. Why was teenagehood basically just a long exercise in feeling awkward around people you wanted to impress?

A clatter of silverware made Maya jump. Someone had knocked over a tray, and there it was: Liam, on his knees under a table, fumbling with a loose **cable** from the wall-mounted TV.

Maya's heart clenched. He was fixing it. Helping. Ugh, why did that make him more attractive?

She was being ridiculous. She needed to just—

"**Fox** incoming," Zara whispered.

Liam was walking toward them. Actually walking toward them. Maya's pulse kicked into high gear. What was she supposed to say? Hey, nice cable work? You're good with electronics?

"Hey," Liam said, stopping at their bench. "You're Maya, right? From English?"

She nodded. Words. She needed words.

"Cool." He gestured toward her lunch. "Is that papaya?"

"What? Oh, yeah. I mean, no—it's Zara's."

"Nice." He nodded, backed away, then paused. "Your hair looked good curly yesterday. Just saying." And then he walked off.

Maya sat frozen.

Zara choked on her papaya. "Did he just—"

"He remembered my hair from yesterday."

"When you were just... yourself?"

Maya touched her hair, now flat and straight against her shoulders. All that effort, and he liked the version that hadn't tried at all.

Operation Stop Trying So Hard commenced immediately.