Three Strikes at Midnight

Maya's cat, Mr. Darcy, was officially the worst wingman in history. Which was saying something, considering her previous attempt at flirting had been accidentally liking a photo from 2017 while deep-stalking her crush.

"You're supposed to be helping me practice for the pool party," she told the orange tabby, who was currently batting at her phone like it was a mouse and not, you know, her entire social life resting on a knife's edge. The Henrys' annual end-of-summer blowout was literally tomorrow, and Maya had spent the past three weeks overthinking everything from her outfit (solved: two-piece from Target, cute but not trying too hard) to her conversation starters (currently ranging from terrible to catastrophic).

Mr. Darcy knocked her phone off the bed and gave her that look cats give when they're judging your entire existence.

"Fine," Maya sighed, grabbing her laptop. "I'll just rewatch The Fox's TikToks again. Like that's not creepy at all."

Everyone at school called Liam "The Fox" because he was impossibly clever and somehow always landed on his feet, whether it was talking his way out of detention (three times last semester alone) or somehow getting the entire baseball team to buy into his cryptocurrency scheme that definitely wasn't a pyramid scheme probably. Maya had been lowkey obsessed with him since seventh grade, which was embarrassing enough without her mentally cataloging his entire social media presence.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number.

hey this is liam from baseball?? u left ur jersey at the field

Maya literally stopped breathing. Then she proceeded to hyperventilate into her pillow for approximately thirty seconds because WHO LEAVES THEIR JERSEY AT PRACTICE WHEN THE FOX HAS THEIR NUMBER AND OH GOD HE TEXTED.

wait who is this, she typed back with trembling fingers, immediately regretting her entire life and existence choices.

it's maya from mr harrison's english class?? u sat behind me when we did romeo and juliet and i made fun of romeo being a simp and u laughed

She remembered. She definitely remembered. She'd also spent the rest of that unit pretending not to notice how his eyes crinkled when he was trying not to laugh during serious scenes, which was honestly disrespectful to shakespeare's literary legacy.

right yeah sorry, she sent, face burning. thanks for letting me know about the jersey.

no prob also um the henrys' party tomorrow?? u going

Maya stared at her ceiling. Mr. Darcy jumped onto her stomach, purring like he wasn't the single worst cat on the planet.

yeah i'll be there, she typed back.

cool. cool cool cool. i was thinking maybe we could hang?? by the pool?? unless that's weird

Maya's screams were only slightly muffled by her duvet.