The Spy Who Couldn't Blend In

I leaned against the basement wall, orange soda in hand, feeling like the world's worst undercover agent. Jordan had invited me to Sarah's party—my first real high school party—and I'd spent the last hour playing it cool, acting like I belonged. Instead, I just felt like a spy gathering intel on normal teenagers.

My palms were sweating so much the soda can was slipping. Why did I agree to this? I should be home gaming, not pretending to be someone who knew how to socialize without making everything weird.

"You look like you're plotting someone's murder," a voice said.

I jumped. Marcus—actual varsity basketball Marcus—was grinning at me. His hair was messy and he held a mostly-empty bag of chips.

"Just... thinking," I managed.

"Bull," he said. "You look like me before my first party last year. Like you're waiting for someone to call you out as a fraud."

I blinked. "You? But you're... you."

Marcus laughed. "Dude, I spent forty minutes 'helping' Sarah's dad find a missing cable just so I wouldn't have to talk to anyone. We're all just pretending to know what we're doing."

Something in my chest loosened.

"Want to play FIFA?" Marcus asked. "Basement TV. No one's down there."

"Yes," I said maybe too quickly.

He grinned. "Good. Because I'm terrible at small talk anyway."