Dead Legs & Green Teeth

Maya's legs pumped like pistons, each stride a rebellion against the 6 AM gray. Cross-country practice wasn't optional—it was survival. At Carter High, if you weren't good at something, you didn't exist. And Maya? She was **running** for her life, literally and metaphorically.

Three hours of sleep. Finals week. The perfect storm.

"You look like actual death," Chloe whispered between gasps of air as they rounded the track. "Like, *The Walking Dead* extra."

"Feel like it too," Maya managed. Her brain floated somewhere three miles behind her body. She was operating on pure caffeine and spite.

First period AP Bio was a blur. Maya sat in the back row, head propped on her fist, fighting the urge to face-plant into her textbook. Mr. Harrison's voice droned about cellular respiration, but all she could think about was how her own cells were staging a mutiny.

Then she saw him: Ethan, leaning against the lockers during passing period, laughing with his friends. Her stomach did that stupid flip thing it always did. Ethan, who sat two rows behind her in English. Ethan, who'd once asked to borrow a pen and smiled at her like she was actually interesting.

This was it. She'd finally talk to him. Really talk. Not just pen-borrower small talk.

She smoothed her hair and approached, her heart hammering against her ribs like trapped bird wings. "Hey Ethan!"

He turned, his face lighting up. "Maya! What's up?"

"Not much, just—" she flashed what she hoped was a normal, non-terrified smile "—surviving finals week, you know? Like a literal **zombie**, but alive."

He laughed. His eyes crinkled at the corners. Maya's soul left her body. This was it. The moment.

"Totally," he said. "Hey, you got a little—" He gestured toward his own mouth.

Maya froze. Her hand flew to her teeth. And there it was. The mother of all teenage nightmares. A chunk of **spinach**, big enough to feed a small family, wedged between her front teeth like a green flag of social suicide.

Her smoothie. She'd made a healthy smoothie that morning because she was *supposed* to be taking care of herself.

"Oh my GOD," she choked out. "I—I gotta go."

She practically sprinted to the bathroom, locking herself in a stall and sliding down the wall. This was it. The end. Her social life, over. Destroyed by leafy greens.

Her phone buzzed.

*Ethan: haha don't worry about it happens to everyone. want to study together at the cafe later?*

Maya stared at the screen, then started laughing. Like, actually laughing. Here she was, a exhausted, spinach-toothed disaster, and Ethan still wanted to study with her.

Maybe being a mess wasn't the end of the world. Maybe it was just what being seventeen was supposed to feel like.

She pulled the spinach from her teeth, washed her face, and headed back out. Some days you run toward things. Some days you run away. And some days, you just keep running until your legs stop burning and everything makes sense again.