Braces and Broken Strings

Maya's reflection stared back at her, braces glinting under the bathroom fluorescent lights. Three months into freshman year, and she still felt like an imposter in her own life. The flower crown from last summer's music festival rested on her head—a desperate attempt to hold onto her middle school identity when everything else was changing.

"Hey, Earth to Maya." Chloe snapped her fingers. "You coming? We're gonna be late for first period."

Chloe had been her best friend since fourth grade. But lately, Chloe was trading her indie band t-shirts for crop tops and spending all her free time at the country club playing padel with the popular crowd. Maya had tried it once. She'd spent forty minutes swinging at air while everyone pretended not to notice.

"Yeah, sorry." Maya adjusted her hat. "Let's go."

Lunch was its own special kind of torture. Maya sat with Chloe and her new friends, picking at the cafeteria spinach that looked like it had been boiled into submission. She was mid-sentence about their English assignment when Lucas—the cute sophomore who'd recently transferred from Spain—slid into the empty seat beside her.

"That hat," he said, gesturing to her flower crown. "It's cool. You going to the music festival next month?"

Maya's heart did something stupid in her chest. "Maybe? My parents said I might be able to go."

"I'm in this band," Lucas said. "We're trying to get a slot. You play anything?"

"Guitar," Maya said, then immediately wished she hadn't. She hadn't picked up her guitar since August, too busy feeling like she wasn't good enough anymore.

"That's sick," Lucas said. "You should jam with us sometime."

Later that afternoon, Chloe cornered her by her locker. "So, you and Lucas?"

"No! We just talked about music."

Chloe's expression softened. "Look, I know I've been, like, MIA lately. Padel got intense. But I've been meaning to ask you... will you come to the club with me Saturday? There's a tournament, and I could actually use someone normal to talk to. All those girls make me feel like I'm performing, you know?"

Maya looked at her oldest friend—really looked at her. Beneath the glossy exterior, Chloe seemed just as lost as she felt.

"Only if I can wear the hat," Maya said.

Chloe laughed. "Deal."

That night, Maya pulled her guitar out from under her bed. She'd forgotten how good it felt to press her fingers against the strings, how music made sense when nothing else did. She played until her fingers ached, already writing the chorus of a song called "Spinach and Sundays."

Tomorrow she'd tell Lucas she was in. Tomorrow she'd go to that padel tournament with her flower crown and her braces and be exactly, unapologetically herself. Tomorrow she'd start remembering that growing up didn't mean growing apart from who she was supposed to be.