Operation: First Period

Maya felt like a zombie. Not the cool, action-movie kind with dramatic eye roll and throaty growl—more like the bleary-eyed, shambling wreck who'd stayed up until 3 AM scrolling through Skylar's Instagram for the hundredth time.

Now here she was, first period Monday, operating on two hours of sleep and a stomach full of anxiety. She'd become a spy of sorts lately, meticulously tracking Skylar's posts: their favorite bands (same as hers), their obsession with vintage cameras (weirdly cute), and that they sat alone at lunch like it was a conscious choice instead of social suicide.

"You good?" whispered Jordan from the next desk over. Jordan, whose hair somehow looked effortless while Maya's was currently defying gravity in three different directions.

"Yeah. Just tired." Maya's voice came out scratchy.

She'd been gathering intel for weeks, planning her approach like some low-stakes undercover operation. Today was D-day—she'd finally say something more than "here" during attendance. Her opening line was perfected after twelve variations in front of her bathroom mirror.

The cafeteria at lunch should've been her moment. Skylar sat at their usual corner table, headphones on, sketching something in a worn notebook. Maya's heart hammered against her ribs like it was trying to escape. She grabbed a tray, scanned the food options, and—

Spinach. Somehow, some way, there was actual spinach on the salad bar. Who even ate spinach at school?

She spooned some onto her plate because #wellness or whatever TikTok was pushing this week. Her hands shook. This was it. She was going to do it. She was going to sit down across from Skylar Chen and say hey and not be weird about it.

Three steps from their table, her tray tilted. Not dramatically—just enough. Her spinach cascaded onto the floor like a sad green waterfall, right in Skylar's line of sight.

Skylar looked up. Their headphones slipped around their neck.

Maya's face burned. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather the spinach disaster while her brain played a highlights reel of every embarrassing moment from kindergarten to now.

"Let me help," a voice said.

She looked up. Skylar was crouched beside her, gathering spinach leaves with their bare hands. No hesitation. No judging.

"Thanks," Maya whispered. "I'm—this is so embarrassing."

Skylar's dimple appeared. "Yesterday I tripped over my own feet in gym and somehow knocked over the entire cooler of Gatorade. The purple kind. Everywhere."

"No way."

"Swear on my vintage camera collection."

They finished cleaning together, stood up simultaneously. Skylar didn't walk away.

"I'm Skylar," they said, like Maya hadn't been lowkey stalking their social media for weeks.

"Maya."

"Wanna sit?" Skylar gestured to their corner table. "I was just working on this drawing. It's actually pretty terrible—you can tell me how bad it is."

Maya's zombie brain finally, finally woke up.

"Yeah," she said, and it came out easy. "Yeah, I'd love that."