The Three Second Rule

Maya's palms were sweating. Literally dripping. She wiped them on her denim shorts for the third time, watching Jake laugh across the backyard. His hair caught the porch light like something from a music video.

"You're doing it again," whispered Chloe, nudging her shoulder. "The spy thing."

"I'm not spying," Maya hissed, but they both knew she was. Ever since Jake had liked her Instagram post last week—the one with that caption she'd spent forty-five minutes overthinking—Maya had been hyper-aware of his every move. It was pathetic. She was pathetic.

"My brother says goldfish have three-second memories," Chloe said, cracking open a soda. "Maybe just pretend you're a goldfish. Every three seconds, you forget to be awkward."

Maya snorted. "That's scientifically proven false, by the way."

"You're missing the point. Go talk to him before someone else does."

Before Maya could protest, Chloe practically shoved her forward. Stumbling toward where Jake stood by the cooler, Maya's brain raced through worst-case scenarios. What if she said something weird? What if she had something in her teeth? What if—

"Hey!" Jake said, before she could even form a coherent greeting. His smile was different up close—less perfect, more genuine. "I was hoping you'd come."

Her stomach did this full gymnastics routine. "You were?"

"Yeah. I've been meaning to ask—" He paused, rubbing the back of his neck. "That post you made? About how overthinking is just your brain's way of caring too much? That kinda hit different. I've never heard anyone put it like that."

Maya blinked. All that time spent spying, overanalyzing his every comment, and he'd been overthinking just as much as she had.

"Thanks," she managed. "I write what I know, apparently."

"Clearly." He stepped closer. "Listen, I know this party's overwhelming. Want to bail? There's a spot down the street with the best boba. We could... I don't know, actually talk?"

Her palms stopped sweating. "Absolutely."