Greens and Geeks

Maya's stomach dropped when she saw the lunch lady plop a mountain of spinach onto her tray. Again. Fourth day in a row. cafeteria lunches at Northwood High were supposed to be better than middle school, but apparently the budget cuts hit the veggie rotation hard.

"Spinach AGAIN?" Leo laughed, sliding into the seat across from her. "Dude, even the rabbit outside stopped eating that stuff."

Maya rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned. Leo was cute – like, annoyingly cute – and he somehow made everything sound like a joke. But this wasn't funny. Her mom had started this new "clean eating" phase, which meant Maya couldn't just grab chips anymore. She had to be That Girl with the actual food.

The worst part? Alex was sitting two tables away with his lacrosse friends, looking unfairly good in his varsity jacket. Alex, who'd smiled at her in homeroom yesterday. Alex, who she'd been lowkey obsessing over since September.

"Whatever," Maya muttered, pushing the spinach around with her fork. "At least I won't get scurvy."

"True that," Leo said. "But also, you look miserable."

Their conversation was interrupted by a commotion near the doors. Someone's dog – a golden retriever, probably a service animal in training – had gotten loose and was weaving through the lunch tables, tail wagging like crazy. The whole cafeteria went wild. Phones came out. People were laughing.

The dog made a beeline for their table. And then, with surgical precision, snatched a floret of spinach right off Maya's tray.

"NO!" someone shrieked.

The dog froze, spinach dangling from its mouth, looking suddenly guilty.

"Okay but that's iconic," Leo said, wiping tears from his eyes. "That dog literally chose your spinach over everything else in here. Your mom would be so proud."

Maya wanted to die. Except – Alex was laughing too. Not mean laughing, but actually laughing, head thrown back, like this was the best thing that'd happened all week. He caught her eye across the cafeteria and gave her a thumbs up.

Later, Maya would realize this was the moment everything shifted. The spinach incident, as it came to be known, became her personal origin story. The dog (whose name, she learned, was Fox) somehow made her seem approachable. Alex started sitting with her at lunch sometimes. Leo became her actual friend instead of just the cute guy who made fun of her vegetables.

But right now, sitting in a cafeteria that still smelled faintly of cooked spinach and golden retriever, Maya just wanted to disappear. She grabbed her tray and stood up.

"You done?" Leo asked.

"Yeah," she said, forcing a smile. "Clearly even the dog has better taste than me."