Three Seconds of Courage

The goldfish was supposed to be my stress relief, a low-maintenance pet for my high-pressure junior year. Instead, Bubbles spent most of his time staring at me through the glass like I was the weird one.

"You're literally a bear today," Jordan said, sliding into the cafeteria seat beside me. "Like, aggressively grumpy."

I sighed, poking at my phone. "Three colleges rejected me. My mom keeps asking about my five-year plan. And yes, I know I'm being a bear."

Jordan's eyes widened. "Speaking of bears... have you seen @campus_spy_42's latest post?"

I groaned. Ever since the anonymous Instagram account started posting "exposés" about our school, everyone had been obsessed. Some mystery student playing detective, revealing secrets and drama under the guise of "keeping it real."

"It's probably just some bored sophomore," I said, though my thumb was already opening the app.

The latest post was about ME. A photo of Bubbles' bowl on my windowsill, captioned: "Someone's hiding something in plain sight. What happens when the goldfish knows too much?"

My stomach dropped. How did they get that angle? My room was on the second floor.

"That's creepy," Jordan whispered. "That's literally inside your house."

I burst out of the cafeteria, phone in hand, heart hammering. Someone was spying on me. My private space, my safe haven, violated by some anonymous账号-seeking clout.

"Hey!" I called out, spotting a figure on the fire escape outside my bedroom window when I got home. "I see you!"

A hood dropped. It was Marcus from my English class, holding a camera.

"Dude," he said, looking busted. "I was trying to get the perfect shot for my photography portfolio. The lighting through your window is insane."

"You're CAMPUS SPY?"

"Former campus spy," he corrected, looking sheepish. "I got bored. But the account got too real, so I stopped posting. Someone else took it over."

My phone buzzed. A new notification from @campus_spy_42: "Told you I'd find the real story. Check your DMs."

The account wasn't exposing me. They were EXPOSING the person who'd been ACTUALLY spying—my older brother, who'd been reading my college rejection letters and gossiping about them at his work.

"Holy crap," Marcus said, reading over my shoulder. "That's actually... kind of badass?"

I stared at Bubbles, who was now swimming excitedly (or maybe just hungry). "You know what?" I said. "I think I'm done being a bear."

Some mysteries are better left unsolved. And some anonymous spies? They might actually be on your side.