Orange Crush at the Finish Line

Maya's lungs burned as she rounded the bend, the **running** rhythm drowning out everything else. Cross country practice was her escape—the one time she didn't have to worry about fitting in at Northwood High, where every friend group felt like an exclusive club she'd never get invited to join.

That's when she noticed him. Lucas, the junior with the bright **orange** Converse that somehow never seemed to get dirty. He'd been showing up at her meets for weeks, always standing near the finish line, phone in hand, not talking to anyone. At first, she'd thought he was filming his girlfriend—some perfect varsity cheerleader type. But he never seemed to focus on anyone but her.

"You're basically a **spy** at this point," her teammate Jenna teased during water breaks. "Dude's been stalking your Insta since September. Maya's got a fan club and she doesn't even know it."

Maya rolled her eyes, but her stomach did that nervous flip thing it always did when someone mentioned him. She'd catch Lucas watching her in the hallway too, looking away quickly when their eyes met. It was creepy. Or was it cute? She honestly couldn't tell anymore.

The regional meet changed everything. Maya was pushing harder than ever, her legs screaming, when she spotted the orange shoes at the edge of the course. Lucas was holding a sign: MAYA MAYA MAYA in orange Sharpie. He was cheering. Like, actually cheering.

She finished third—good enough for states—and her teammates swarmed her. But Lucas hung back, awkward and unsure, until Jenna literally pushed him toward her.

"I, uh, made you something," he said, handing her a playlist. "For running. It's got that beat drop that hits right when you need it."

Maya looked at the playlist title: ORANGE CRUSH. The first track was already her favorite warm-up song.

"You've been watching my training playlists," she said, not as a question.

Lucas turned the exact color of his shoes. "Maybe. Also, I've been timing your splits since September. Your pace has improved like, a lot."

"You've been what?"

"Your form was garbage at the first meet," he rushed on. "But your arm swing got way better. I'm a distance runner too, sophomore year I sucked, and I noticed—"

Maya laughed. She couldn't help it. "So you're not a creepy stalker, you're just... obsessed with running mechanics?"

"And maybe other things," Lucas mumbled.

The next morning, Maya showed up to practice wearing orange shoelaces. Jenna lost it. Lucas, stretching at the far end of the track, noticed immediately and grinned. Maya's face hurt from smiling back, and for the first time since starting high school, the finish line didn't feel like something she had to cross alone.