Green Teeth and Golden Glory

The cafeteria at Northwood High was basically a social battlefield, and Maya had accidentally wandered onto the minefield with a giant piece of spinach wedged between her front teeth.

She'd spent all morning prepping for her presentation on Ancient Egypt—hence the spinach smoothie her mom insisted would "boost her brain power." Now, standing in front of Jason's table while he laughed at something Tyler said, Maya felt the green horror reflecting everyone's judgment.

"Hey Maya," Jason said, and she froze. Was he looking at her teeth? Was this it? The moment her social life officially died?

"Hey," she managed, her voice cracking. "What's up?"

"We're talking about Miller's history project," Tyler chimed in. "You know, the pyramid model?"

Oh. Right. The pyramid. Maya had spent three weeks constructing a scale model of the Great Pyramid out of sugar cubes and gold paint. It was currently sitting in the display case near the office, looking majestic and slightly crooked.

"It's actually pretty solid," Jason said. "Like, way better than mine."

Maya felt her face heating up. Was this real? Jason Chen, varsity soccer captain and the reason she spent twenty minutes on her hair every morning, was complimenting her pyramid project?

"Thanks," she said, and then she felt it—the spinach shard, practically waving hello to everyone. "I mean, it's whatever. My dad helped with the base."

"Nah, the details are sick," Jason said. "You going to the game Friday?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. Was this happening? Was Jason Chen actually inviting her to the game? Or was he just being polite because she had food in her teeth and he felt bad?

"Maybe," she said, trying to play it cool. "I've got—"

"Oh my god, Maya," her friend Chloe burst onto the scene. "Your tooth! You have a—"

Maya's entire life flashed before her eyes.

"Here." Chloe shoved a compact mirror in her face.

There it was. A glorious, emerald-green monument to social embarrassment, wedged proudly between her two front teeth.

Maya did the only logical thing. She bolted.

She spent the rest of the day in her room, replaying the moment in infinite 4K horror, while her dog Barnaby rested his head on her knee like he understood the fundamental tragedy of being fifteen.

"At least you don't care about spinach," she muttered, scratching behind his ears.

Barnaby let out this soft huff of agreement, because dogs were basically better than people.

Her phone buzzed.

Jason: Forgot to ask—what glue did you use for the pyramid? Mine's falling apart lol

Maya stared at the screen. Maybe her social life wasn't completely dead. Maybe, just maybe, there was hope for her yet.

She typed back: Hot glue. Works like magic.

Then she deleted the spinach smoothie recipe from her phone. Some things weren't worth the brain power.