Orange Hoodie Manifesto

My life is basically one long exercise in being a human glitch. Exhibit A: I'm currently lurking behind a potted ficus at the spring formal, pretending to check my phone for the eighth time in three minutes. Total spy vibes, if by 'spy' you mean 'anxious sophomore in an orange hoodie that screams I give up.'

The hoodie was supposed to be coral. That's what the website said. But in the harsh fluorescent lights of the gym, it's basically a traffic cone with sleeves. Meanwhile, everyone else is in curated outfits that definitely didn't come from the sale rack.

I spot Maya by the punch bowl, laughing at something Jake said. My stomach does that thing where it forgets how to organs. I've been lowkey obsessed with her since she quoted ancient Egyptian mythology in English class like it was nothing. Something about how the sphinx's riddle was really about identity—not who you are, but who you're becoming.

That quote lives rent-free in my head now.

'Nice orange,' someone says.

I jump. It's Leo, who I've had exactly three conversations with, all of them about math homework.

'It's coral,' I say automatically. Then realize that's worse and add, 'I mean, thanks, I guess.'

He shrugs. 'I think it's brave. Standing out on purpose.'

'I didn't exactly—'

'Maya's looking over here,' he says casually.

My heart flatlines. 'She is?'

'Yeah. She told me earlier she likes guys who don't take themselves too seriously.' He gestures at my hoodie. 'You're, like, committing to the bit.'

I look at Maya. She IS looking. And she's smiling.

The sphinx would ask: What walks on four legs in the morning, two at noon, and three in evening? The answer's humans—because we change. We grow. We start out crawling, and eventually we learn to stand tall, even when we're wearing a hoodie the color of a construction zone.

Maybe the riddle's not about who you become. Maybe it's about owning who you are right now.

I take a breath. Walk toward the punch bowl.

The orange hoodie and I have got this.