The Summer I Spied on Everything

My summer started with a confrontation: Mom stood in the kitchen doorway, brandishing the **vitamin** bottle like a weapon. "Jordan, you're not leaving this house until you take these."

I groaned, swallowing the chalky tablets with a gulp of orange juice. Because nothing says 'you're growing up fast' like your mom treating you like a toddler who can't remember their daily supplements.

But the real mission waited outside. Not schoolwork, not chores—I was fourteen and had bigger priorities. I was going to **spy** on the new neighbor.

He'd moved in two weeks ago: tall, mysterious, perpetually wearing this faded **orange** hoodie that should've looked ridiculous but somehow worked. Every girl on our street was suddenly obsessed with their morning jogs past his house. I needed intel.

Our family **dog**, Barnaby—a chaotic golden retriever mix who believed every stranger was a long-lost best friend—was supposed to be my cover. Walking the dog, totally normal. Except Barnaby had zero chill.

First problem: the **cable** guy was parked right in front of His house, bucket truck elevated, directly blocking my prime surveillance spot behind the maple tree. I stood there like an idiot, Barnaby wagging his tail so hard his whole body shook, while this guy in a hard hat worked on the neighborhood internet lines like I wasn't clearly creeping.

"Hey, you need something?" the cable guy called down.

"Just walking the dog," I said, super casual, pulling Barnaby away. "You know, normal dog-walking stuff."

Barnaby chose that moment to break free and sprint toward Orange Hoodie's front porch, barking like he'd finally found his soulmate.

I chased him, mortified, and there He was—sitting on his porch steps, holding the world's smallest kitten. He looked up, and I froze.

"Is this your dog?" he asked, amused. "Because I think he just introduced himself to my new cat."

"Yeah," I managed, face burning. "Sorry. He's... friendly."

"Clearly." He stood up, kitten in one hand, extending the other. "I'm Leo. And this is Marmalade."

"Jordan," I said, shaking his hand. "That's... a great name. For a cat."

"Thanks. My little sister named her." He smiled, and I felt like I'd swallowed something way more potent than those vitamins. "Want to meet her properly?"

Barnaby sat between us, tail thumping, completely unbothered by my emotional crisis.

The cable guy drove away. The summer stretched ahead, suddenly full of possibilities I hadn't planned for. Sometimes your biggest missions fail in the best way.

"Definitely," I said. "But, uh, maybe we should go inside first? My dog's kind of extra."

Leo laughed, and I decided maybe embarrassing family rituals and chaotic dogs weren't the worst things in the world. Not if they led to moments like this.