Three Miles, Two Laps, Zero Chill

Maya's lungs burned. That was the thing about **running** cross country—your body always found new ways to remind you that you were absolutely, positively cooked. Coach Miller called it 'pushing your limits.' Maya called it 'why am I awake at 6 AM for this again?'

'Shake it out, Martinez! We've got a meet on Friday!' Coach yelled, somehow louder than the whistle dangling from his neck.

Maya bent over, hands on knees, pretending to stretch while actually just trying not to die. That's when she saw him.

Liam from the **swimming** team, emerging from the natatorium like some kind of chlorine-scented Greek god. Why did swimmers always look unfairly good? They spent half their practice staring at the bottom of a pool, yet here was Liam, shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, hair wet and messy in that way that probably took twenty minutes to style.

'Running still, I see,' Liam said, falling into step beside her as she began her cool-down jog. Like he wasn't even winded from his own workout.

'Still swimming, I see,' Maya shot back. 'How's the water? Cold? Wet? Shocking, I know.'

Liam laughed, and Maya felt stupidly pleased with herself. They'd been doing this dance since September—snarky comments during overlapping practice times, lingering conversations that lasted just a little too long, the almost-flirting that Maya overanalyzed with her best friend every single night.

'So,' Liam said, casual as anything, 'I saw your post about the regional meet. Pretty fire.'

Wait. WHAT.

Maya's brain short-circuited. She'd posted about regionals three days ago. Her account was private. She had exactly 87 followers, and she knew every single one of them personally.

Liam kept talking, completely oblivious to Maya's existential crisis. 'My friend Sam says you've been dropping crazy times. He's, like, obsessed with athletics stats. It's low-key creepy, but also kind of impressive?'

'Your friend Sam,' Maya repeated slowly. 'Does Sam happen to have a habit of screenshotting my stories and sending them to you?'

Liam's face turned approximately the color of a ripe tomato. 'Wait, was he supposed to be subtle about that?'

'Subtle?' Maya couldn't help it—she burst out laughing. 'Liam, your friend Sam has been literally **spy**-ing on my Instagram for months. He sent you that screenshot less than an hour after I posted it. I have timestamps.'

'Okay, first of all,' Liam said, 'that's not—okay yeah, that's exactly what happened. But in my defense, I was going to follow you anyway. I just... chickened out. And Sam may have taken matters into his own hands.'

'You were going to follow me anyway?' Maya asked, something warm and fluttery exploding in her chest.

'Well, yeah.' Liam rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly unable to meet her eyes. 'I mean, you're funny, and you're fast, and you put up with my terrible jokes even when you're literally dying from a workout. Seemed worth following. For... reasons.'

'Reasons,' Maya repeated, grinning now.

'Reasons,' Liam agreed. 'Also, I might have told Sam to find out what music you listen to before meets. I was thinking about making you a playlist? But then that felt weird, so I didn't.'

Maya stopped walking. 'You were going to make me a playlist?'

'Was that too much? That was too much, wasn't it.'

'No,' Maya said, pulling out her phone. 'It's perfect. Add me on Instagram, Liam. And tell Sam he can stop his undercover operation. I got your message.'

Liam's smile was brighter than the 6 AM sun. 'Deal.'