Watching From the Sidelines

The thing about being a wallflower is that nobody notices when you're watching. I'd perfected the art of the casual glance, the half-second stare, the 'just looking around the room' scan. But ever since Chloe ditched me for the popular crowd, I'd upgraded from observer to full-blown spy.

I sat on a bench near the football field, Buster—my neighbor's chaotic golden retriever—tangled around my legs. I was supposed to be dog-walking for twenty bucks, but mostly I was spying on Chloe's Instagram stories through my phone while pretending to watch the game. Low-key pathetic? Maybe. But when your former best friend suddenly starts posting pics with the people who made fun of your freshman year hoodie collection, you get desperate.

"Heel, Buster," I whispered, but he was too busy trying to eat a discarded gum wrapper.

In the past week, I'd analyzed eight Chloe posts like they were classified government documents. That Starbucks cup? Hints that she'd hung out with Jordan on Tuesday. The background music in her story? Proof she'd been at Brianna's party. I was practically operating at the FBI level of social media surveillance.

"Yo, Maya!"

I jumped. My phone slipped and almost hit the grass. It was Chloe, walking across the field with Jordan and Brianna flanking her like security guards. I hadn't even noticed them approaching—guess my spy skills needed work.

"Hey," I managed, my voice cracking like I was still thirteen. "Just, uh, walking Buster."

Chloe smiled, but it was weirdly tight. "Cool. We're heading to get boba. You wanna come?"

The invite landed like a plot twist I hadn't seen coming. Jordan and Brianna exchanged looks that clearly said what the hell is happening right now?

"I can't," I said, gesturing at Buster. "Dog stuff. But thanks."

"Okay. Text me later?" Chloe called as they walked away. "We barely talk anymore."

I stood there frozen while Buster finally succeeded in eating the gum wrapper. I'd spent weeks treating Chloe like a target, like someone to watch from a distance because I assumed she'd outgrown me. Meanwhile, she'd probably been wondering why I went radio silent.

"You're a terrible spy," I told Buster. He wagged his tail, completely unbothered.

I pulled out my phone, opened my messages, and typed: "Boba tomorrow?"

Sometimes the hardest part of growing up isn't losing friends—it's realizing you might be the one pushing them away without even noticing.