September 18, 2024 — 7:07 AM
Location: Tribeca, Elevator 2
Weather: Cloudy with a 60% chance of overthinking
Mood Meter: 🟢/🟡 Balanced, slightly anticipatory
Sensory Notes: Coffee-boom aroma 8/10 • Schoolbag rustle 4/10 • Elevator hum 2/10
Coffee of the Day: Iced Caramel Macchiato (hers, but she handed it to me anyway)
Playlist: “Home to Another One” – Madison Beer
Goal: Survive the day without becoming a walking rom-com cliché (unlikely)

Some days begin with a soft warmth, the kind that forms in the air before words even do, like the city quietly rooting for you.

The elevator doors open, and it happens again: Chloe, two coffees, a look that says she’s as amused by our pattern as I am. Her braid is looser today, like she ran down the hall laughing and time couldn’t catch her.

“I swear I don’t mean to keep doing this,” she says, handing me the Macchiato even though the lid clearly says C for Chloe. “But if you don’t mind, I can pretend this is your order and we don’t break the streak.”

“Streaks are scientifically important,” I tell her.

She laughs — that soft, low, effortless laugh that makes the elevator feel warmer.

We walk out into the lobby. And that’s when it happens.

The Stare.

Zara and Kaylee are standing near the entrance, wearing the exact expressions of two detectives who have discovered their first clue in a case they weren’t assigned.

Zara’s sunglasses are unnecessarily oversized.
Kaylee is sipping a drink with steam literally rising like a warning symbol.

And when they see us — side by side, carrying swapped coffees — their eyebrows perform a synchronized rise that could win them medals.

Chloe doesn’t notice.

I do.

Kaylee burns her tongue trying to eavesdrop. It is a strong start.

The Whisper Circle

By second period, the whisper network is alive.

I hear snippets in corridors:

• “Did you see them together again this morning?”
• “They walked in smiling.”
• “They matched footsteps.”
• “There was an umbrella yesterday, apparently.”
• “You don’t accidentally match footsteps!”
• “This is evidence.”

Somewhere, Sherlock Holmes is feeling threatened.

When I pass Zara and Kaylee by the lockers, they try to look casual but fail in spectacular fashion.

Zara’s sunglasses fall off her head.
Kaylee drops her notebook.
Then they both pretend they didn’t.

“Good morning,” I say.

“Is it?” Zara replies, suspiciously.

“Suspiciously good,” Kaylee adds, squinting like she’s scanning me for emotional fingerprints.

I decide not to engage with whatever investigation they’ve launched.

Starbucks Spy Operation (Unsuccessful, But Hilarious)

After school, Chloe and I walk to the Starbucks on 5th Avenue to work on a council document. It was supposed to be quick. It became iconic for all the wrong reasons.

Picture this:

• Starbucks: calm music, soft lighting
• Coffee machines hissing like tired dragons
• Busy Manhattan crowd doing busy Manhattan things
• And then, in the far corner, behind a stack of promotional tumblers…

Zara and Kaylee.

Attempting to be invisible.

Failing in 4K UHD.

Zara’s wearing a trench coat that is either fashion or espionage, and she keeps pretending to read a magazine but flips the page every three seconds like she’s trying speed-reading for the first time.

Kaylee, meanwhile, is holding a cup of boiling hot black coffee (her choice) and is trying to run surveillance with a phone app that turns her camera into what she calls “a directional audio locator.”

The app is literally just a microphone with a cartoon ear.

Every time she tries to sip her drink, she winces.

Then, because she’s so focused on “eavesdropping,” she sips again.

And burns her tongue.

Again.

I look at Chloe — who is explaining an idea for the disco’s entrance lighting — and she is blissfully unaware that two of her best friends are melting four feet away from us.

But I’m aware.

Oh, I’m painfully aware.

It feels like being on a nature documentary, except instead of birds, David Attenborough would be narrating:

“Here, in the wild, we see two teenage girls attempting the ancient ritual of Not Mind-Your-Business.”

Kaylee makes a strangled noise after another sip.

Zara elbows her.
Kaylee elbows back.
They both try to hide under the menu board.

It is performance art.

Bad performance art.

Chloe points at something on her screen. “Do you think softer lights would make the room feel warmer?”

“I think they’d make everything glow,” I say — meaning it.

She smiles, completely unaware that a disaster is unfolding behind us.

Which is exactly when Zara’s trench coat knocks over a stacked pyramid of gift-card holders.

They scatter like confetti.
Kaylee yelps.
Zara tries to pretend it wasn’t her.
And the barista stares at them like they’ve been here before and caused similar problems.

I bite the inside of my cheek to avoid laughing.

Hard.

Starbucks Chaos, Continued

Chloe gathers her papers, oblivious to the chaos hurricane behind her.

“You’re distracted,” she observes.

“I’m… observing life,” I say.

“Is life doing something strange?”

“Life is very strange, actually.”

She shrugs, focused on reorganizing sticky notes and highlighters. She’s so precise it’s almost a kind of art.

Meanwhile, behind us:

• Zara attempts to crouch behind the small fridge containing sparkling water
• Kaylee whispers “stealth mode” and then immediately kicks the fridge by accident
• A can falls out
• Rolls across the floor
• Hits Zara’s foot
• She tries to stop it
• Trips over her own trench coat
• And ends up in a squat position that looks like she’s about to propose to her water bottle

I almost choke on my drink.

Chloe looks up. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I say quickly, clearing my throat. “Just… swallowed too fast.”

Not a lie.
Not the truth either.

Westfield World Trade Center Operation: Stealth (or Not)

Later that week, the suspicion grows.

So of course, Zara and Kaylee escalate their mission.

Chloe has choir rehearsal. I have an hour to kill. So I end up at Westfield World Trade Center, the massive, white-ribbed mall that looks like an angel skeleton.

I’m browsing headphones.

Everything is quiet.

And then I see them.

Zara, wearing sunglasses again, pretending to examine perfume but sniffing them without removing the caps.

Kaylee, crouched behind a clothing rack, holding binoculars.

Inside a shopping mall.

Indoors.

At 5 PM.

She tries to whisper to Zara:

“I have a visual! He’s near the electronics!”

But she whispers at normal volume, because whispering quietly is a myth in her world.

Zara shushes so violently she knocks over a bottle of cologne.

It survives.

Barely.

I stand there, watching them like one watches a glitch in a video game: confused, amused, and slightly concerned for realism.

This time, I speak first.

“You two… okay?”

Zara whirls around.
Kaylee drops the binoculars.
They clatter loudly.
A mannequin loses its balance in sympathy.

“We’re fine,” Zara insists, too quickly.

“We’re studying… architecture,” Kaylee adds.

“In Sephora?” I ask.

“Yes,” Zara says, even though she’s holding a lipstick tester in her hand.

I raise my eyebrows.

They both freeze.

Then run in opposite directions like startled raccoons.

Chloe’s Innocent Conclusion

When I see Chloe later, she’s holding her choir folder and her hair is messy in a way only purposeful effort achieves.

“How was your break?” she asks.

“Oh, you know,” I say casually. “Studied… architecture.”

She laughs, confused.
“That’s oddly specific.”

I shrug. “The world is oddly specific.”

She gives me that soft, curious look — the one that makes me feel like I’ve got nowhere to hide but also nowhere I’d rather be.

Night Log — 10:59 PM

• Chloe’s friends are acting like undercover agents with poor field training
• Starbucks gift-card tower casualty confirmed
• Kaylee’s tongue suffered 3rd-degree betrayal by hot coffee
• Zara cannot crouch without causing structural damage
• Chloe: suspicious of nothing
• Me: suspicious of everything
• Crush: rising like New York rent
• Probability that they will escalate: 98%
• Probability that Chloe knows: < 5%

Action item:
Do not laugh next time Zara attempts to hide behind an object smaller than her anxiety.

Secondary action item:
Don’t fall for Chloe too fast.

Tertiary action item:
Realize it’s too late.