Green Fox Summer

The neon sign flickered. VITALITY JUICE BAR. Maya smoothed her cable-knit sweater—ninety degrees out, but she needed the armor. First week on the job, and she still felt like an imposter among the gleaming steel and wheatgrass vibes.

Behind the counter, Ryley laughed with some seniors from school. His smile did that stupid thing to her stomach—like she'd swallowed fizzy **water** and couldn't burp it out. He wore that vintage band tee. Of course he did.

"Maya! Blender emergency!" Ryley called. "This customer wants the Green Machine."

"On it." Her fingers trembled at the keypad. House special: **spinach**, kale, apple, ginger. Health in a cup. Her mom would be proud. Probably.

She dumped two handfuls of spinach into the canister. Added the apple juice. Pressed FRAP.

*WHIRRRRRRRR.*

The lid exploded.

Green sludge coated her face, her cable-knit sweater, the ceiling. The bell above the door jingled. The entire juice bar went silent.

"Oh my god," someone whispered.

Maya wiped **spinach** from her eyelashes. Through the streaked window, a scrawny **fox** stared at her from the parking lot, head tilted, judgment in its amber eyes. Even urban wildlife was embarrassed for her.

Ryley was at her side in three seconds, damp cloth in hand. "Dude. That was legendary."

She waited for the laugh. The hashtag #MayaExplosion trending by lunch.

"Here." He handed her a bottle. "B-complex **vitamin** drink. For the stress. Not exactly on the menu, but..."

Maya's flush deepened. He remembered. Last week, she'd mentioned her mom always made her take B vitamins before tests.

"Thanks."

"So," Ryley leaned against the counter, grinning. "Since you're already wearing green... you wanna help me taste-test the mango basil experiment?"

Outside, the fox trotted away, vanishing into the suburban shrubbery.

Maya wiped green sludge from her cheek and laughed. Sometimes the explosions led to the good parts. She just had to stop treating them like catastrophes.