Fox and Bear at Jordan's Party

Maya's stomach did backflips as she stood outside Jordan's house. This was it — the first real party of freshman year, and she was debating whether to bail. Her older brother's hoodie swallowed her frame, the faded fox across the chest practically mocking her cowardice. Just go in, she told herself. It's not that deep.

Inside, bass thumped against her ribs. She grabbed a red Solo cup, nodding like she belonged, until her eyes locked on Bryce — varsity jacket, easy smile, currently holding court by the sliding glass doors. Her stomach did another flip. That's when she spotted Sam, leaning against the wall looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else. His bear hoodie was rumpled, his expression suspicious.

"You too?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. "Social battery at one percent?"

"Zero," she admitted. "Why did I even come?"

"Peer pressure's a hell of a drug," he deadpanned, and she snorted.

They ended up in Jordan's bedroom, where a lone goldfish swam lazy circles in a bowl on the desk. "That's literally me," Maya said, gesturing at it. "Just existing, waiting for something to happen."

"Relatable. That fish has more rizz than both of us combined," Sam said, and she laughed — actually laughed, for the first time all night.

They talked for two hours about everything and nothing. School sucks. Parents don't get it. Why does everything feel so high-stakes when you're fourteen? It was easy, natural, like they'd known each other forever.

When Jordan's mom announced pizza delivery, they migrated to the kitchen. Maya grabbed a slice, took a confident bite — and Sam's eyes went wide.

"You've got..." He gestured at his own teeth.

She rushed to the bathroom mirror. Bright green spinach. In her front teeth. The interaction with Sam had felt so real, so comfortable, and now — mortification washed over her in waves. But when she turned around, Sam was just leaning against the doorframe, grinning.

"Fox," he said. "Your name's Fox, right? From the hoodie?"

"Maya, actually."

"Well, Maya," he said, "I'm gonna remember this as the night I met someone who doesn't take herself too seriously. That's rare around here."

They walked home under streetlights, neither wanting the night to end. And for the first time, Maya didn't feel like the anxious girl in her brother's oversized hoodie. She was just Maya — spinach incident and all — and somehow, that was enough.