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Maya's phone buzzed with the invite to Jake's pool party — the social event of the summer before sophomore year. She stared at her reflection, fingers tracing the constellation of ...
Maya's mom had handed her the chewable **vitamin** with the morning lecture about 'healthy choices,' which felt rich coming from the woman who survived on iced coffee and stress. N...
Maya's mom scored them guest passes to Oakridge Country Club for the week, which basically meant Maya was about to spend seven days feeling like a total imposter while her mom work...
Maya's hair was doing that thing again. The thing where it refused to acknowledge physics, personal space, or the $45 anti-frizz serum she'd wasted her allowance on. Spring humidit...
Maya's lungs burned as she rounded the track, her Nikes slapping against the rubber. Six more laps. Coach benson called it endurance training; she called it socially acceptable mas...
Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her jeans, leaving dark streaks on the denim, which was honestly such a loser move. The house party at Tyler's place was suppos...
The pool party at Jenna's house was supposed to be legendary. That's what everyone said, anyway. But standing there in my ridiculous oversized swimsuit, I felt like a goldfish trap...
The cable bill sat on the kitchen counter like a warning label. Mom's handwriting: WE NEED TO TALK. I already knew what it meant. No more WiFi means no more streaming, no more Dis...
Marcus's eyes darted around the cafeteria, his fraying baseball cap pulled low. This was it—freshman year at Northwood High, and he was already ghosting everyone. "Yo, Marcus!" ca...
Maya's heart raced as she gripped her iPhone in the school bathroom, her reflection staring back from the cracked mirror. The selfie she'd just posted—her wearing that vintage fish...
The padel court at country club was basically sacred ground. That's where the Pyramid sat at the top of every social hierarchy — Tyler, with his stupid perfect hair and his dad's m...
I'd been walking through junior year like a total zombie, brain fried from three hours of sleep and the constant pressure to be... everywhere. Everyone. My dad called it 'the grind...