Orange Hoodie Offline

Maya pulled her oversized orange hoodie tighter around herself—her armor against the cafeteria noise. Same hoodie she'd worn every day since The Incident, when Jenna and the others quietly reshuffled the friendship pyramid and Maya found herself at the bottom, then off the chart entirely.

Now she sat at the edge table, picking at her lunch while watching them. Jenna's new squad sat at their usual spot near the windows, laughing at something Chloe said. They'd moved on so easily. Maya hadn't.

She opened Instagram—her weekly spy mission. Just checking. Seeing if they missed her. Jenna's story popped up: a group selfie, everyone squeezed together at Chloe's birthday dinner. No empty space where Maya used to be. They'd filled it in like she'd never existed.

"You doing your weekly creep again?"

Maya jumped. Leo slid onto the bench across from her, setting down an orange Fanta. He was in her art class, mostly quiet, always drew in the corner.

"I'm not creeping. I'm keeping tabs."

"On people who dropped you?" Leo cracked his soda open. "That's gotta be exhausting."

"It's called closure."

"It's called torture." He tapped his fingers on the table. "You know they're just people, right? They're not the Illuminati. It's not like they're running some pyramid scheme where you have to pay to sit at their table."

Maya actually laughed. A real one.

"You're weird, Leo."

"I'm observant." He pulled out his phone. "Wanna see something?"

He showed her his art account—hundreds of sketches, some finished pieces. Details she'd never noticed from across the classroom. "I've been drawing you in art class. Your hands, mostly. The way you hold charcoal like you're scared it'll bite you."

Maya felt something shift. Warm. Not the orange-hot humiliation of being excluded, but something else.

"Why?"

"Because you're actually good," Leo said. "You just won't let yourself be seen."

She looked back at Jenna's table one more time. They were still laughing, still existing in their perfect pyramid at the top of the social hierarchy. They'd always be there, probably. Maya would always be looking from the outside.

But maybe that wasn't the worst thing.

Maya deleted Instagram. Not the app—just Jenna's story. Then she pulled her sketchbook from her bag and opened it to a blank page.

"Teach me how you draw hands," she said.

Leo smiled, pushed his orange soda toward her. "Finally."

And for the first time in months, Maya took her hood down.