Green Teeth, Thunder Heart

The spinach in my teeth was practically glowing. I could feel it there, wedged between my front two teeth like a tiny green betrayal, mocking my entire existence.

"You good, Maya?" Chloe asked, scanning her reflection in the cafeteria window. Her outfit was flawless—crop top, perfectly ripped jeans, that effortless aesthetic I'd been trying to copy for months. "You've been weirdly quiet."

"I'm good," I lied, pressing my tongue against the spinach obstacle. "Just... thinking."

"About Jordan?" She wiggled her eyebrows. "He's literally been staring at you all lunch."

My stomach did that lightning-quick flip thing—the kind that feels simultaneously amazing and terrifying. Jordan with his messy curls and those ridiculous Converse he'd written all over. Jordan who'd somehow memorized my coffee order after three days of knowing me.

"He's not staring—"

"He literally is, Maya. Hello?" Chloe rolled her eyes. "Ask him to the dance already. It's not that deep."

Easy for her to say. Chloe had dated three people this semester alone. I was still recovering from my last crush, which had ended when he moved to Canada and ghosted my entire friend group.

The truth was, I'd been crushing on Jordan for weeks now. We had science together, and he'd started saving me a seat. He drew dumb doodles on my lab reports. He once brought me an extra hot chocolate because "you looked tired" and somehow that had been the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for me.

But my palms were sweating just thinking about asking him to anything. My brain supplied worst-case scenarios like it was getting paid to do it. What if he said no? What if he laughed? What if—

"You're spiraling," Chloe said, reading my mind. "Just ask. Like, rip the band-aid. What's the worst that happens?"

I looked across the cafeteria. Jordan was definitely looking. When our eyes met, he didn't look away. Instead, he grinned and pointed at something on his hand—wait, no.

He held up his palm. Sharpied on it in messy letters: DANCE?

My heart stopped. Then restarted at approximately double speed.

"OH MY GOD," Chloe whisper-screamed. "MAYA."

Jordan was walking over. My entire life flashed before my eyes, mostly consisting of embarrassing moments and that time in sixth grade when I tripped over my own feet during a presentation.

"Hey," he said, casually, like he wasn't holding up his hand with a question written on it. "So, I was gonna ask you something, but then I remembered I'm terrified of talking to girls I like, so—" He gestured to his palm. "This seemed easier."

I forgot about the spinach. I forgot about my sweaty palms. I forgot about everything except this boy with messy hair and a Sharpie question on his hand.

"Yes," I said. Then louder: "Yes."

"Bet," he said, grinning like he'd just won the lottery. "I'll pick you up at seven?"

"Seven works," I managed, while Chloe made suppressed squeaking noises beside us.

As Jordan walked back to his table, I finally worked the spinach loose with my tongue and swallowed it.

Best. Vegetable. Ever.