Orange Hoodie Secrets

Maya's orange hoodie was basically her identity at this point. The color wasn't just orange—it was ORANGE, the kind of blinding neon that made her mom say, "Really, Maya? Again?" every morning. But Maya rocked it. It was her armor against sophomore year, her middle finger to fitting in.

The problem was Sam.

Sam, who sat behind her in chemistry and always seemed to know what Maya was thinking before she did. Sam, whose phone was always somehow within reach of hers, like the universe was playing matchmaker with their iPhones. Sam, who Maya swore was actually a spy hired by the universe to figure out why Maya's heart raced whenever they made eye contact.

"Your charging cable's hanging again," Sam whispered one Tuesday, their breath tickling Maya's ear. She jumped, nearly knocking over their beaker.

Sam's fingers grazed hers as they both reached for the cable, and Maya felt something electric—like, actual sparks, not the cheesy kind from romance novels. Her face burned hotter than her hoodie.

"I got it," she mumbled, but Sam didn't let go.

"You know," Sam said, their voice low, "I've been meaning to ask..."

The bell rang. Of course.

But later that day, Maya's iPhone buzzed with a notification: *Sam Chen liked your post from 2:37 AM.* Which was weird, because Maya didn't remember posting anything at 2:37 AM. She tapped it open—oh. OH. That post. The one she'd drafted at midnight, courage boosted by sleep deprivation and gay awakenings, then immediately deleted because NOPE, too vulnerable.

Unless she hadn't deleted it.

Unless Sam, actual human spy that they were, had somehow—

Her phone rang. Unknown number.

"Your orange hoodie," Sam's voice came through, and Maya literally dropped her phone, "it's really loud today."

"What?"

"Loud. Like, impossible to ignore. Kind of like you've been trying to get my attention all semester but only now I'm actually paying attention."

Maya's face was definitely the color of her hoodie now. "I—what?"

"Friday. 7 PM. That boba place downtown?" Sam paused. "Unless you need more time to be subtle about it."

Maya looked at her reflection in her phone screen—orange hood, desperate eyes, heart doing gymnastics. "I'm never subtle," she said, and smiled. "I'm ORANGE."

Sam laughed. "Friday, then. And Maya? Bring that hoodie. It's working for you."