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Maya's first house party wasn't supposed to go like this. She'd spent forty minutes perfecting her eyeliner, practicing the wing until it was sharp enough to cut through her anxie...
The cafeteria smelled like everything wrong with sophomore year. Microwave burritos and anxiety. I sat at the table where nobody actually talked, just scrolled through TikToks we'd...
Maya's trucker hat was pulled so low it practically swallowed her forehead. stupid, really — who wore hats to a house party? But the brim created a shadow, a safe little darkness w...
Leo's vintage snapback sat low on his forehead, covering the nervous sweat gathering at his hairline. The hat was his armor—worn, curved brim perfectly shaped—transforming him from...
Maya's cousin Priya was coming. THE Priya—Instagram model, college freshman, basically perfect. Maya had two weeks to transform from "that quiet girl" into someone interesting. "Y...
Maya's life was basically one long awkward pause. Junior year at Northwood High meant AP classes, college applications, and the crushing weight of expectations she couldn't bear to...
Maya felt like a **zombie** walking through seventh period, her brain fried from three hours of sleep—the usual consequence of binge-watching until 3 AM. Her phone buzzed in her po...
Maya's vintage bucket hat sat pulled low over her eyes, her personal shield against the world. Freshman year at Northwood High had been two months of constant second-guessing, and ...
Maya stood at the pool's edge, chlorine stinging her nose, heart hammering against her ribs like it was trying to escape. Today was varsity swim tryouts, and she'd spent the entire...
Maya's orange hair wasn't a mistake—it was a statement. At least, that's what she told herself when her mom asked why she'd dyed it neon tangerine the night before sophomore year s...
The hair dye box said "Vibrant Fuchsia." It should've said "Social Suicide." I stared at my bathroom mirror, pink drips staining my forehead like I'd been shot with a glitter gun. ...
I never thought I'd be that person crouching behind the baseball dugout at 8 PM, iPhone clutched like a weapon, basically stalking my former best friend. But here we are. Maya ha...