The Track Stalker

I'd been running around the track for forty-five minutes when I saw him.

Correction: I wasn't running. I was doing that awkward jog-walk thing everyone does when they're waiting for their crush to finish swim practice but doesn't want to look like a stalker.

The chlorine smell hit me before I pushed open the gym door. That sharp, chemical water scent. I adjusted my orange hoodie—my mom said it made me look like a traffic cone, but it was the only thing I felt safe in.

I was basically a spy at this point. A low-stakes, very sweaty spy.

My best friend Kai had texted earlier: "u stalking ur swim boy again 🙄" and I'd responded with a middle finger emoji because I was NOT stalking. I was strategically positioning myself.

The water rippled as Liam hauled himself out of the pool. His dark hair plastered to his forehead, droplets running down his neck and—

I turned to actually run real laps, but my phone buzzed. Kai: "he's looking at u rn"

I froze. Do I look or not look?

"Hey!"

I jumped three feet in the air.

Liam stood there, dripping wet. "You running?" he asked.

"I—yeah. Just. Running. laps."

My brain stops working when I'm nervous. It's a whole thing.

"Cool," he said. "Want an orange? I stole like five from the cafeteria."

He held out a bright orange fruit and my heart stopped. This was it.

"Sure," I managed.

He tossed it and I fumbled but caught it. My face felt so hot I was probably the color of my stupid hoodie.

"So," he said, leaning against the bleachers, "I see you here a lot. You join track or something?"

"Something like that," I said, and immediately wanted to die.

But he laughed. Not mean laughing.

"You're terrible at lying," he said. "It's kind of impressive."

I froze. Had he known?

"You—"

"Kai told me," he said. "They said 'my friend is too scared to talk to you but she's here every day' and honestly? It was getting kind of cute."

The orange in my hand felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

"So you knew I was—"

"Spying?" He grinned. "Yeah. Why do you think I always made sure to look my best getting out of the pool?"

I covered my face. "I hate everything."

"You don't hate everything," he said, stepping closer. "You don't hate this."

I peeked through my fingers. He was still looking at me like I was someone worth noticing.

"Wanna skip the running thing?" he asked. "There's this diner down the street. They have really good orange juice."

I lowered my hands. "Is this your way of asking me on a date?"

"This is my way of asking if you want to get orange juice with me," he said. "If you want to call it a date, I'm cool with that too."

I looked at my orange hoodie. Looked at him. Looked at the water still dripping from his hair.

"Yeah," I said. "I'd like that."

And for the first time in months, I didn't feel like I was running away from anything. I didn't feel like a spy in my stupid orange hoodie.

I just felt like me. And for once, that felt like enough.