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Kai's iPhone clutched in her sweaty palm, 17% battery, 87 missed notifications from the group chat that was currently dissecting her every move since the incident. Since she'd froz...
I was operating on approximately three hours of sleep — full zombie mode — when Maya's pool party started. Finals week had turned my brain into mush, but skipping wasn't an option....
Max's golden retriever, Buster, tilted his head at the bat clutched in Max's sweaty hands. This was it—varsity baseball tryouts sophomore year, and Max was about to humiliate himse...
The goldfish swam in tiny, frantic circles inside its plastic bag, completely unaware that its entire existence hung on my ability to act cool. I'd won it at the carnival booth by ...
The invitation sat on my desk like a golden ticket. Jake Morrison's pool party. The guy whose Instagram stories basically defined our school's social pyramid. Top tier: Jake and hi...
The party buzzed around me, but I was stuck in the corner of Jessica's backyard, nursing a lukewarm soda like it held the secrets to surviving junior year. Palm trees lined the fen...
I was already **running** five minutes late to first-day freshman swim tryouts, which was peak idiot energy. My mom's minivan had decided this morning was the perfect time to not s...
Maya had been 'spying' on them for weeks — not like a creepy stalkery spy, but the casual Instagram-stalking kind that every sophomore does when they want to be part of the friend ...
Kai's face burned. Not like a warm blush, but the full-body melt of social suicide. They'd brought their childhood comfort object to school by mistake—that small, threadbare bear w...
Maya walked through sophomore hall like a pro—eyes glazed, body on autopilot, soul somewhere else entirely. At 16, she'd perfected zombie mode. Not the Apocalypse kind (she'd binge...
Maya stood in front of her mirror, adjusting the ridiculous fedora her mom had bought her. "retro is in, honey!" she'd said, but Maya knew better. Nothing said 'I'm trying too hard...
Maya's older sister called it the pyramid of popularity—freshmen at the bottom, seniors at the top, and everyone else desperately climbing somewhere in the middle. Maya, barely fif...