Green in the Gap

Leo's cap was pulled low—baseball style, just like the pros. The hat hid the catastrophe that was his bangs, butchered by his sister's craft scissors yesterday. Now he stood at Spinelli's, squeezing tubes of green paste onto garlic bread. Spinach artichoke dip, his station, his nemesis.

His iPhone buzzed in his apron pocket. Maya.

"zombie walk downtown. u coming?"

Leo's fingers hovered. Outside, the annual Zombie Walk shuffled past—hundreds of people in fake blood, groaning theatrically. Last year, he'd gone all out with latex wounds and contact lenses. This year, he was here, smelling like roasted garlic and minimum wage.

"stuck at work 😞" he typed.

"borrow ur brother's truck! we can pick u up"

"bro took it to baseball practice"

"lame. zombie waits for no one 🧟"

Leo sighed, checked his reflection in the microwave door. Hat: good. Chin: questionable. Teeth: absolutely catastrophic.

A massive chunk of spinach was wedged between his front teeth, bright green against the cafeteria lighting. He'd been serving customers like this for twenty minutes.

"Oh my god," he whispered.

His phone lit up again. Maya: "btw jess is bringing her cousin from out of town. super cute. just sayin"

Leo's stomach did that thing—like he'd swallowed a live frog. Cute cousin. Meeting. Right now.

He grabbed a napkin, scrubbed furiously at his teeth. The spinach budged. Slightly.

The bell dinged. A group of zombies—actual high schoolers in grime makeup—stumbled in, laughing.

"Spinach dip!" one groaned dramatically, then cracked up. It was Maya, her face smeared with fake blood, alongside a girl with piercings and a significantly better zombie transformation than Leo had ever managed.

The cousin.

She caught Leo's eye. Smiled.

Leo's brain short-circuited. He straightened his hat. He smiled back.

And that's when Maya said, "Leo, you have a little—" gesturing at her own teeth, "—right there."

The cousin laughed. Not mean-laughed. Actual, genuine laughed.

"It's the dip," Leo said, mortified. "Occupational hazard."

"At least it's not brains," the cousin said. "I'm Riley, by the way."

Leo's heart did something illegal. He wiped the spinach away with a napkin, finally.

"Leo," he said. "And I promise, my teeth are usually spinach-free."

"I don't know," Riley said, examining the dip. "The green is kind of a look."

Maya groaned. "Everyone's a comedian. Come on, we're burning daylight. And you owe me a zombie transformation."

Leo untied his apron. Baseball practice could wait. So could the perfect bangs. Some things—like zombie apocalypses and cute cousins—only happened once.