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Marcus's legs burned like someone had set his quads on fire. Three months into freshman year, and somehow he'd let Jordan talk him into joining cross country. Probably because Jord...
I became a professional spy at 3:47 PM on a Tuesday. Not the cool, James Bond kind. The Instagram-stalking, five-depths-deep kind. I'd been watching Jordan's stories for weeks now...
Maya stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her towel like a security blanket. Her hair—usually her pride and joy, all soft coils and perfect bounce—was currently a frizzy disast...
The bass thrummed through Maya's chest like a second heartbeat. House parties weren't really her scene—too many people, too much eye contact, way too many opportunities to say some...
The pool party of the year. That's what Maya's Instagram story called it. And somehow, here I was, standing in my cutoff shorts and an old band tee, feeling like I'd wandered into ...
Maya's thumb hovered over the send button on her iPhone, that familiar orange bubble of a text from glowing back at her: "r u coming??" It was Jordan's third message. The party had...
The papaya incident started it all. I was standing by the pool at Tyler's house, the one his parents had just renovated with money they definitely didn't have, holding this weird ...
The sun hat was my mother's idea. A massive, floppy monstrosity with a ridiculous pink bow that screamed 'I have no social awareness.' I stood at the edge of Jenna's pool party gri...
Marcus stood at the plate, baseball bat gripped tight, palms sweating like crazy. This was it—make the team or spend another summer as the backup benchwarmer for his little sister'...
The gym looked ridiculous. Someone—probably student council president Jessica—had decided this year's lock-in theme should be "Ancient Mysteries," which translated to cardboard pyr...
The text on Maya's screen had been spinning for ten minutes straight: *Pool party @ Jake's, 2-5, bring vibes.* "You going?" asked Zara, sprawled across Maya's bed, scrolling throu...
The cafeteria's social **pyramid** towered before me, a terrifying monument to high school hierarchy. Seniors commanded the peak tables near the windows, their laughter cascading d...