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Maya dragged herself through the hallway like a zombie—minus the brain-eating, plus the AP Chemistry test that had definitely murdered her sleep schedule. Her mom kept leaving thos...
Maya stared at the handwritten note in her locker: 'You're in. Tonight. 8pm. Don't be late.' No signature, but she knew exactly who it was from. The Pyramids—the exclusive clique t...
The fox had been showing up to baseball practice for three days straight. "Dude, is that a fox?" Tyler whispered, his batting gloves frozen mid-swing. "Or am I hallucinating from ...
Marco felt like a zombie moving through his junior year. Between AP classes, baseball practice, and his parents' constant speeches about college applications, he was running on fum...
The water churned below us, muddy and relentless, as I stood at the edge of the swimming hole. June. The kind of hot that makes your skin feel too tight. Marcus was already shirtle...
Maya's room smelled like pet store water and existential dread. Her goldfish, Bubbles (she'd named him in fifth grade, okay?), swam in endless circles around his bowl—literally liv...
Maya pulled the faded **baseball** cap over her curls for the third time, checking her reflection in the locker room mirror. The hat was two sizes too big—Drew's hand-me-down from ...
Maya's vintage fedora collection was basically her personality—quirky, curated, and totally hiding what was underneath. The navy blue one with the feather? That was her armor again...
The cafeteria hummed with that specific lunch-period frequency—clattering trays, whispering drama, someone laughing too loud at a table by the windows. I sat alone, staring at my t...
I hadn't heard from Leo in three weeks. Ever since he made varsity lacrosse, my former best friend had been ghosting me harder than a bad WiFi signal. I was rotting on my bedroom f...
Maya had spent forty-five minutes on her hair. Forty-five. Her usual routine was 'wash and go,' but tonight was different. Tonight, she was finally FaceTiming Kai, the cute junior ...
I'd been spying on him since September—not in a creepy way, just strategic observation. Alex Rivera sat two rows ahead in homeroom, his hair always catching that perfect slice of s...