Cat Eyes & Cable Ties

My cat, Luna, is the only one who actually gets me. She'll sit on my desk while I'm doomscrolling through Instagram, watching me with those judging yellow eyes like she knows I'm wasting my life comparing myself to people who probably have panic attacks over their eyebrow game too.

Friday night, I'm at Jordan's party—my first actual party ever, because finally someone invited me—and I'm wedged between a vibrating speaker and someone's little brother who's definitely not supposed to be there. That's when I hear it: Maya and Chloe in the kitchen, talking about me like I'm not fifteen feet away.

"She's so... quiet," Maya says, like it's a medical condition. "I heard she goes home and just—"

"—stares at the wall all weekend?" Chloe finishes. "My sister said she's basically a monk."

I'm gripping my red Solo cup so hard it's crunching. This is it. This is my moment to either shrug it off or let it wreck me. And honestly? I'm so done letting other people's opinions run my life.

"Actually," I say, stepping into the kitchen doorway, "I go home and marathon Netflix with my cat while y'all are out here pretending to care about each other's lives."

The kitchen goes dead silent. Chloe looks like she swallowed a bug.

"And that cable you're talking about?" I point to the coaxial cable snaked across the floor. "That's why Jordan's Wi-Fi has been garbage all week. I fixed it yesterday when you were all busy making fun of my hoodie."

Maya's face does this thing where she can't decide whether to be impressed or annoyed.

"Wait," someone says from behind me. "You're the one who fixed the internet? Jordan's been crying about that for days."

"Yeah," I say, suddenly feeling taller. "I'm kind of a wizard with that stuff."

Later, when I'm in the bathroom staring at myself in the mirror—really staring, like actually looking at my face instead of picking it apart—this girl I've never talked to slides in beside me.

"That was kinda badass earlier," she says. "I'm Sarah, by the way."

"Emma," I say, and she doesn't look away.

"You know, I've been trying to figure out why Jordan's been all weird about her internet. That's actually clutch that you fixed it."

"It's just cable," I say, but I'm smiling now. "Anyone could've done it."

"Yeah, but nobody else did." She pulls out her phone. "Want me to add you to the group chat? We're planning something for next weekend and you actually seem... cool."

Walking home, Luna greets me at the door like I've been gone for years. I scoop her up, bury my face in her fur, and realize something: I spent so long worrying about being a spy in my own life—watching from the sidelines, terrified to be seen—that I forgot the most basic thing. Being yourself isn't about being perfect. It's about being real enough that the right people will actually see you.

My phone buzzes. A group chat notification. Emma, this is your life calling. Better pick up.