Green Smoothie Apocalypse

The first day of sophomore year, I walked into homeroom feeling like a zombie. Not the cool, Netflix kind with dramatic plotlines and hot survivors. I'm talking actual zombie—dead inside, moving on autopilot, functioning on three hours of sleep and panic.

My iPhone buzzed in my pocket. Another group chat blowing up without me. Classic.

"You okay?" asked Jordan, sliding into the desk beside me. Jordan, with their perfect hair and effortless vibes and apparently the ability to notice when people are dissociating.

"Fine," I said, because "actually, I feel like I'm drowning in expectations and social media and my mom thinks I need to eat more vegetables" was too much for 7:45 AM.

Speaking of vegetables. My mom's new obsession: spinach. Every. Single. Morning. Green sludge that tasted like lawn clippings and broken dreams. "It'll clear your skin!" she'd promised. My skin remained decidedly unclear, but now I carried around spinach in my teeth like a badge of honor.

Jordan noticed. Of course they did. "You've got—" they gestured to their own teeth, looking away like they were trying to spare me the embarrassment.

I wiped my face. "Is it gone?"

"Mostly."

We sat there for a second. The awkwardness was actually kind of nice. Not performative, not curated for the algorithm. Just awkward.

"My dog threw up on my homework this morning," I blurted out. Why. WHY. That wasn't even true.

Jordan laughed. Not mean-laughed. Actually laughed. "That's random. But also, kind of iconic."

"I panic-lied," I admitted. "I don't even have a dog."

"Weird way to tell someone you want a dog, but I respect the commitment."

Something shifted. Not huge, not dramatic. Just... less zombie-like.

After school, Jordan invited me to their swimming practice. Said they needed someone to time their laps, which I'm pretty sure was code for "I don't want to sit alone for three hours." The pool smelled like chlorine and middle school trauma, but watching Jordan slice through the water, effortless and focused, made something in my chest feel lighter.

"You're staring," Jordan said, dripping onto the deck later.

"Admiring your form," I shot back before I could overthink it.

They grinned. "You're not terrible for a spinach-toothed liar."

"High praise."

Maybe sophomore year wouldn't be an apocalypse after all. Maybe it'd just be... okay. And maybe that was enough.