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The baseball bat felt heavy in my hands, sweat making my grip slippery. Jason's backyard stretched out before us, a patchy lawn that had seen too many neighborhood games and not en...
The cafeteria's social hierarchy was like a pyramid, and I was definitely at the bottom—right next to the wilted salad bar. I'd been running from my awkwardness all freshman year, ...
I'd been a spy since seventh grade. Not the cool kind with gadgets and secret missions—the cafeteria kind. The kind who watches from the corner table, memorizing who sat with who, ...
I never thought I'd be the kind of person to go full spy mode, but here I was, hiding behind the bleachers during varsity baseball practice, heart pounding like I'd just stolen som...
Marcus stood in front of his bathroom mirror, attempting to style his hair into something that wouldn't scream 'freshman.' His older brother's orange Snapback sat crooked on his he...
Maya's life was over. Officially. Catastrophically. The stylist had said "just a trim" but what Maya got was the unholy lovechild of a mullet and what happens when you put a bowl o...
The bull sat on my left shoulder all through seventh period: YOU DON'T BELONG HERE. Two weeks into Austin High and I was still the 'new kid,' which in teen hierarchy ranked somewhe...
Maya's hair had committed treason. Again. Standing before her bathroom mirror, she glared at the frizzy halo exploding around her head like she'd stuck a fork in an electrical soc...
The pool deck was packed—seniors showing off their abs, freshman pretending not to be intimidated, and me, caught in that awkward middle ground where you're too old for the kiddie ...
Maya stared at her iPhone screen, thumb hovering over the post button. The photo showed her new haircut — a choppy bob she'd impulsively gotten yesterday after watching too many Ti...
Maya clutched her iPhone like a lifeline, thumb hovering over Instagram. Again. Three hours scrolling through Sasha's perfect life—beach trips, perfectly captioned sunsets, that on...
The carnival lights blurred against my orange hair—fresh from a box of Splat my mom definitely didn't know about. Three days into freshman year, and I was already reinventing mysel...