Green Between My Teeth

The pool party was supposed to be my summer comeback. After spending freshman year known as "Quiet Maya" who sat in the back of algebra picking at her cuticles, I was ready to be someone else. Someone who laughed loudly and didn't overthink every single social interaction.

So when Jake Rivera — whose smile literally made girls forget their own names — invited me to his pool party, I practiced being chill in front of my mirror for three days.

I arrived twelve minutes late because that's what confident people do, right? The backyard was already jumping. Pool floats shaped like flamingos and pizza slices bounced across the water. Someone's playlist blasted from speakers near the diving board. I grabbed a red cup from the table and hovered, trying to look natural, like I belonged at pool parties all the time.

"Maya! You made it!" Jake appeared beside me, water dripping from his hair onto his shoulders. He was wearing a navy t-shirt and swim trunks, and I suddenly forgot how to speak English. "You gotta try my mom's spinach artichoke dip. It's literally legendary."

Spinach. The word triggered something in my brain — a memory from fifth grade when I'd had green stuff stuck in my teeth for an entire afternoon while presenting my science fair project. But this was different. This was high school. I was different.

"Sure," I said, aiming for casual.

I loaded up a chip, took a bite, and Jake was right — it was incredible. Creamy, salty, amazing. I was mid-laugh at something he said about his friend's disastrous attempt at a cannonball when I felt it: that familiar piece of green something wedged between my front teeth.

My face burned. I needed a mirror immediately. I mumbled something about checking my phone and practically sprinted toward the pool house, away from Jake, away from everyone, away from my dignity.

Inside the pool house, I fumbled with my phone in the dim light, desperately trying to angle the camera to see my teeth. Then I noticed it — the speaker cable had come unplugged from the amp outside. The music had stopped. Everyone would be wondering what happened.

I stood there frozen: spinach in my teeth, cord in my hand, about to make a choice.

I could hide. Fix my teeth. Wait until someone else figured out the music situation.

Or I could just... not.

I plugged the cable back in, took a breath, and walked outside with green between my teeth and my heart pounding against my ribs. Jake was standing by the speakers looking confused.

"Hey," I called out, my voice somehow steady. "I think the cable came loose."

He looked over, and his face lit up. "Maya! You're a lifesaver."

Then he grinned. "You've got a little —" he pointed at his own teeth, "— right there."

I didn't die of embarrassment. I didn't run away. I just wiped it off with my finger and shrugged.

"Yeah, I know. Your mom's dip is worth it."

Jake laughed. Not a polite laugh. A real one.

"You know," he said, "I've been wanting to talk to you all year, but you always seemed so serious in algebra. You're actually pretty cool."

"I'm figuring it out," I said, and for the first time, I actually meant it.