Green Between the Teeth

The backyard hummed with that specific Friday night energy—the kind that makes your palms sweat and your brain overanalyze every single move you make. I stood by the edge of the **pool**, clutching a red Solo cup like it was a lifeline, watching Mia Torres laugh at something Tyler said. Her wet **hair** slicked back, droplets catching the patio lights.

"You gonna actually get in, or just hold up the wall?" Jordan appeared beside me, raising an eyebrow. Jordan, whose entire personality was carefully curated chaos, currently sporting mismatched socks and zero fear of social judgment.

"Working up to it," I muttered. The truth was, I'd spent twenty minutes fixing my hair in the bathroom mirror, trying to look effortless. Now I was frozen, convinced everyone could smell my desperation.

"Whatever." Jordan rolled their eyes. "Your loss. They're playing chicken fight in ten minutes."

I walked toward the snack table, needing something to do with my hands. Someone had brought a veggie platter—sad, drooping carrot sticks and **spinach** leaves that had definitely seen better days. I helped myself to a spinach wrap because I was nervous and eating was something to do.

That's when Mia approached.

"Hey!" Her smile was genuine, which somehow made it worse. "You're in my history class, right? You sit behind me."

"Yeah," I said. Then, because my brain chose that exact moment to malfunction, I smiled back.

Her expression didn't change, but something flickered behind her eyes. Confusion? Secondhand embarrassment?

"So," she said, "my parents finally got rid of our **cable**. We're doing all streaming now, and I'm trying to figure out what to watch. You seem like someone who has opinions on media."

This was it. The opening. My shot to actually talk to Mia Torres, to be smooth and charming and interesting.

"Oh yeah, totally," I said, leaning in with what I hoped was casual confidence. "I've got—"

"Actually," she interrupted, her face crinkling with suppressed laughter, "you have a little..." She gestured to her own teeth.

The spinach. A perfect, fluorescent green wedge stuck between my front teeth, visible from space, broadcasting my awkwardness to everyone at this party.

"Oh my god," I whispered.

"It happens," she said, but she was definitely smiling now. "To everyone. Last week, I walked around all day with my shirt inside out. Like, ALL day. Three people pointed it out before I noticed."

"Seriously?"

"Scout's honor." She held up three fingers, then winced. "Wait, that's not the right number. Whatever. Point is, nobody cares as much as you think they do."

She splashed into the pool, then turned back. "You coming in or what?"

I ran my tongue over my teeth—clean—and jumped in after her. The water was perfect. Sometimes the most embarrassing moments are just the ones that break the ice anyway.