Green Teeth & Bad Hair Days

Maya stared at her reflection, fingers attacking the frizz exploding from her head like she'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. Third day straight. The humidity was absolutely destroying her hair, and of course, today was the day Tyler from AP Chem would actually notice her.

"You look like a zombie," her little brother chirped from the doorway, holding Mr. Fluffington—their ancient, farting pug mix—like a furry baby. The dog chose that moment to shake, sending dander everywhere.

"Thanks, Leo. Really helpful." Maya grabbed her backpack, ignoring the dog currently attempting to eat her shoelace. Her mom appeared in the hallway, pressing a plastic container into her hands.

"Healthy snack! That spinach salad from yesterday."

Maya's stomach dropped. Last night's dinner had been a solid no-go, but she couldn't say no without looking ungrateful. She shoved the container into her bag and escaped before her mom could mention anything else.

Lunch period found her in the cafeteria, the social pyramid laid out before her like some cruel psychological experiment. Tyler sat with the lacrosse team at the top tier—laughing, effortless, perfect hair unaffected by humidity.

She sat with her friends, attempting to eat the spinach salad without looking like a rabbit. It was going fine. Actually fine. Until Tyler walked over.

"Hey, Maya." His voice was deeper in person. "Did you finish the chem lab? I'm stuck on part C."

She nodded, probably too enthusiastically. "Yeah, totally. I can help."

"Awesome. You want to come over after school? Study?"

Her heart did something genuinely concerning. "Sure. Yeah. Cool."

They made plans. She was floating. She was winning at life.

It wasn't until sixth period that her friend Jess leaned over and whispered, "You have something in your teeth."

Maya's soul exited her body.

She hurried to the bathroom mirror. There it was. A perfect, bright green fragment of spinach, parked between her front teeth like a tiny betrayal. From lunch. While talking to Tyler.

The worst part? She'd go over there anyway. Because that's what being sixteen was about—eating vegetables you hated, fixing hair that wouldn't behave, letting the dog lick your face when you were crying, and showing up to hang out with your crush while carrying enough mouthwash to drown a small horse.

Growth was messy. At least she'd brush her teeth first this time.