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Maya's palms were sweating, which was gross and terrible because she was literally holding two cherry Icees. The track team had decided to "celebrate" their loss to Central with a ...
My mom says I look like a zombie, which honestly? Valid. Between AP chem, swim practice, and my new side gig as an unpaid social media investigator, I'm running on caffeine and pur...
I was basically a **zombie**. Finals week had turned my brain into mush, and I was running on three hours of sleep and sheer desperation. My mom, in her infinite wellness wisdom, h...
The lightning cracked across the sky like something out of a movie, but my life was definitely not cinema-worthy. Unless you count the part where I'd dyed my hair bright orange two...
Maya's palms were literally sweating through her batting gloves. Again. "You good, M?" Jordan asked, tossing the ball in the air behind home plate. His backwards cap and effortles...
My phone buzzed in my pocket like a trapped bee. I already knew what it was — another notification broadcasting to everyone that I'd been "spying" on Maya's Instagram story for the...
Chloe's first mistake was wearing the wrong shoes. White Converse to the Oakwood Country Club padel courts might as well have been a flashing sign that said I DON'T BELONG HERE. "...
The orange jersey hung on me like a neon billboard advertising my imminent social suicide. "You'll love it, honey," my mom had said, signing me up for summer league without asking....
I'd spent three days forcing myself into the zombie state—half-alive, eyes glazed, functioning on nothing but iced coffee and panic. My first high school house party was in two hou...
Tyler's thumb hovered over the screen, the blue bubbles of his own bullshit taunting him from the group chat. 'Yeah, Friday's game is huge,' he'd typed three hours ago. 'Varsity tr...
I'd been **spying** on Riley for months. Not like creepy spying—okay, maybe a little creepy. I had a fake Instagram account just to watch her stories, scroll through her perfect li...
The baseball sat heavy in my glove, like it was judging me. Coach Miller's voice echoed across the field—"Again, Lopez! You're telegraphing your pitches!" as another line drive sai...