The Water Bottle Incident

I was already ten minutes late to first period when I saw him watching me. Again.

Okay, maybe "watching" is dramatic. But Leo Matthews had definitely looked at me three times in the cafeteria yesterday, and now he was staring across the hallway like I was some kind of Operation-worthy target. My brain, being my brain, immediately spiraled: He knows. He somehow found out about that embarrassing TikTok I made in eighth grade—the one where I tried to be a comedy **spy** and failed spectacularly. It had two views. Both were me. But still.

I speed-walked to my locker, nearly tripping over my own Vans.

"You good?" Maya asked, appearing beside me like she'd apparated. "You look like you're being chased."

"Leo keeps looking at me," I whispered, yanking my locker open harder than necessary. "Something's wrong."

"Or," Maya said, closing her open textbook with a dramatic thwack, "he thinks you're cute. Has that occurred to your dramatic self?"

I paused. "No."

"You're impossible." She checked her phone. "Also, aren't you supposed to be at **running** club? Coach is gonna kill you."

I groaned. Cross country practice. The one thing keeping me from completely losing my mind. Freshman year had been a mess—new school, new expectations, this constant feeling like everyone had received a manual on how to teenage that I'd missed. **Running** was the only time my brain shut up. No overthinking. No analyzing whether Leo's lingering glance meant something or nothing or everything.

Just pavement and breathing and temporary peace.

"I'll go tomorrow," I said, grabbing my homework. "Today I need to investigate."

"Investigate what," Maya deadpanned.

"The Leo Situation."

She threw her hands up. "You're exhausting. I love you, but you're exhausting."

The bell rang. I scrambled toward bio, but my path was intercepted—by Leo himself.

"Hey," he said.

"Hey," I squeaked. Smooth.

"So," he rubbed the back of his neck. "I noticed you drink that fancy **vitamin** water at practice. The peach mango one?"

"What?"

"My little sister, she's got all these allergies and can't have regular stuff. I was wondering what brand you get, because—"

"Wait. You've been watching me because of my water?"

"Yeah. Sorry if that's weird. I just didn't want to make it awkward." He looked at me, really looked at me, and something in my chest did this fluttery thing I'd only read about in books. "You're always super focused at practice. I respect the grind."

"Oh," I said. "Oh."

"Yeah." He smiled—actually smiled, and it was better than I'd imagined, which was annoying. "So, the brand?"

"I'll text you," I heard myself say. "If you give me your number."

His eyes lit up. "Deal."

Later, Maya found me sitting on the floor outside bio, grinning at my phone like an idiot.

"Let me guess," she said. "The investigation was successful?"

"Shut up," I said, but I couldn't stop smiling. "Also, I think I might like cross country now."

"Weirdo," she said affectionately. "Come on. We're gonna be late."

Some days, being a teenager didn't feel so scary after all.