Orange Hoodie Rescue

The neon-orange hoodie was basically a social crime. Mom meant well—"it'll help people spot you in crowds!"—but at Jefferson High, being spotted was exactly what I didn't want. I'd been the new girl for three weeks, and my friend situation was currently at zero.

I'd taken to eating lunch behind the gym, near the old maintenance shed where a striped tabby cat had adopted me. I called her Lunch Buddy even though she never ate anything I brought. She just watched me with judging eyes while I ranted about my nonexistent social life.

"You think THIS is bad?" I said, gesturing at my hoodie. "Yesterday someone literally asked if I worked at traffic duty."

Lunch Buddy blinked slowly.

"Yeah, thanks for the pep talk."

The back door swung open and I nearly choked on my Cheeto. A guy in all black with hair that definitely cost more than my entire wardrobe walked out, phone in hand. I scrambled to hide behind the dumpster—smooth, Maya, absolutely smooth.

"Hey," he said, spotting me anyway. "You seen a cat back here?"

"Uh, maybe?"

"Mine escaped during third period. My sister's gonna kill me—" He stopped. "Is that Cheeto?"

The cat had trotted over and was aggressively head-butting his shin like she'd known him forever.

"You know her?"

"Dude, that's MY cat. I've been looking everywhere." He dropped to his knees, and Cheeto immediately flopped over for belly rubs. Traitor.

"I've been feeding her Cheetos for weeks," I protested.

"Her name is NOT Cheeto." He looked up, and that's when I noticed—he had the faintest orange highlights in his hair. Almost like he understood.

"I'm Leo," he said. "And thanks for not letting her starve."

"Maya. And sorry about the Cheetos."

"Nah, she lives for that garbage." He stood up, dusting off his black jeans. "Hey, you wanna come meet the rest of the chaos? My sister has this ginger cat who's literally evil—"

"I'm listening."

"—and we have pizza."

"Definitely listening."

As we walked inside, I caught my reflection in the door glass. Orange hoodie, Cheeto dust on my chin, following a stranger to meet his evil cat. Whatever. Worst case, I'd finally have a friend.

Best case? I'd keep the hoodie. It was growing on me.