Orange Hoodie Days

Maya's mom pressed the **vitamin** D supplement into her palm every morning like it was some kind of magic shield against the world. "You're going to public school now, baby. Need to keep that immune system STRONG."

As if high school was a disease you could prevent with supplements.

She spent the first month **running** between classes like she was training for something, backpack thumping against her spine, perpetually five minutes late to everything. The hallways felt like some kind of chaotic obstacle course where everyone already knew the rules except her.

Then there was The Incident with the **cable**.

Her parents had finally caved and gotten cable TV after years of being That Family with No Netflix. Maya had mentioned offhandedly at lunch that she'd watched some show, and Jordan—the seated at the cool table, whose dad owned like half the town—had laughed. "Wait, you guys just GOT cable? What is this, 2005?"

The whole table had laughed. Maya's face burned so hot she thought she might actually explode. She'd spent the rest of lunch hiding in the library, feeling like she'd missed some memo about basic human requirements.

So when Jordan invited her to play **padel** at the country club (his family's membership, obviously), Maya said yes even though she'd never picked up a racquet in her life. Because that's what you did when Jordan Morrison looked at you like you might actually be worth noticing.

She showed up in her older brother's gym shorts and a t-shirt from the science museum, feeling completely out of place among the cute athleisure outfits everyone else wore. The Padel Court smelled expensive—like fresh paint and privilege.

Jordan was surprisingly patient, actually teaching her how to hold the racquet, how the ball bounced differently than tennis. "You're actually kinda good," he said after Maya managed to return a tricky shot, and something weird happened in her chest.

But then she saw her—this girl in a bright **orange** hoodie sitting in the grass by the fence, watching them. She looked like she didn't care at all about country clubs or Jordan Morrison or any of it. When their eyes met, the girl grinned, like she knew something Maya didn't.

"Who's that?" Jordan asked, sounding almost annoyed.

"I don't know."

But she kept thinking about that orange hoodie all through dinner while her mom went on about omega-3s and her dad asked if she'd made any friends. Yeah, sure. Friends with Jordan Morrison and his stupid perfect teeth.

The next day, she found the orange hoodie girl waiting by her locker. "I'm Riley," she said. "And you looked absolutely MISERABLE playing padel with Jordan yesterday."

Maya laughed before she could stop herself. "It was that obvious?"

"Girl, you were wearing your brother's gym shorts." Riley's grin was easy, genuine. "Want to get actual food instead of whatever organic mystery meat they're serving today?"

As they walked out of the school building, Maya thought about how she'd spent weeks worrying about Jordan Morrison and cable TV and fitting into a world that felt completely foreign. Meanwhile, she'd been walking past someone who actually got it the whole time.

"So," Riley said as they headed toward the taco truck down the street. "Your parents really just got cable?"

Maya groaned. "Please don't tell anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me." Riley's eyes crinkled. "Besides, I don't even watch TV. That stuff rots your brain."

Maya laughed so hard she almost choked on air, and for the first time since starting at Westwood High, she didn't feel like she was running toward something or away from anything—just walking, finally, toward something real.