Green Truth

The cafeteria was a minefield, and Maya was defusing it with the grace of a toddler in clown shoes. Three weeks at Northwood High, and she'd already mastered the art of looking busy while eating alone at the edge of the lunchroom.

"Hey, zombie girl!"

Maya flinched. Alex. The boy who'd decided her quietness needed fixing, preferably with an audience. His laugh cut through the chatter like glass breaking.

"I'm NOT a zombie," she muttered, but her voice was so low she barely heard it herself.

"Earth to Maya!" Alex slid into the seat across from her, uninvited, like he owned the place. Which, coming from the guy whose dad owned half the town, he basically did. "You've been staring at that tray for ten minutes. The spinach is not gonna attack first."

Spinach.

Maya's stomach dropped. She'd chosen the salad bar specifically because it seemed safe—nothing messy, nothing embarrassing. And yet, there it was. A massive, bright green chunk of spinach wedged squarely between her front teeth, mocking her existence. Three weeks of careful navigation blown by a leaf.

"You got a little—" Alex gestured at his own teeth, grinning.

"Yeah. I saw," Maya's face burned. "Thanks for the heads-up, like, fifteen minutes ago."

"No problem, zombie." His phone buzzed. He checked it, face falling slightly. "Crap. I gotta go. Coach is gonna have a bull if I'm late to practice again."

Maya watched him leave, already missing the attention, which was pathetic. She was practically running after him with her eyes, and she didn't even know why he bothered talking to her at all.

Outside, the rain had started. Maya's retriever, Buster, waited by the bike rack like he did every day, her ride-or-die since her parents divorced and her mom started working double shifts. Some people had friends. Maya had a dog who'd learned her schedule better than she had.

"Hey buddy," she whispered, scratching behind his ears. "Worst lunch ever?"

Buster's tail thumped. At least someone was happy to see her.

"Maya!"

She turned. Alex was jogging back, breathless. "Forgot my—wait. Are you talking to your dog?"

"He's a better listener than most people here."

Alex laughed, but not mean. "Fair. Look, I'm sorry about the zombie thing. My cousin calls me that all the time when I space out. Guess I projected."

Maya blinked. "You?"

"Anxiety meds, two years running." He shrugged like it was nothing, which everything but was. "Anyway, there's a party Friday. You should come. If you want. No pressure, but—I'd be cool if you did."

Maya's chest did something weird. Not the panic flutter. The other thing.

"Maybe," she said, instead of "yes" or "no." Because maybe was safer.

"Cool." He smiled. "And Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"You got all the spinach out. You're good."

Maya watched him run toward the gym, weirdly light. Maybe Northwood wouldn't be so bad after all. Maybe she'd even make an actual friend who wasn't a dog.

Buster barked, like he knew something she didn't.

"Don't worry," Maya told him, starting toward home. "You're still my favorite."