Orange Laces

I double-knotted my orange laces, heart hammering like I'd just ghosted my crush. Which I had. Yesterday.

"You're not seriously quitting, are you?" Chloe stood there with her pyramid-scheme energy drink, looking at me like I'd just announced I was joining the chess club. "The social pyramid doesn't rebuild itself."

The varsity cross country team stretched behind her, a literal moving pyramid formation because Coach said it built 'character' or whatever.

"I'm not quitting," I said, even though I was definitely quitting. "Just... taking a sabbatical."

Her face did that thing where she couldn't decide if I was being real or messing with her. "A sabbatical? From popularity? That's not a thing, Kiera."

Turns out, it was.

Two weeks later, I was actually running. Like, intentionally. My lungs burned and my legs felt like jelly, but for the first time since freshman year, something felt real. No performative laughter at jokes that weren't funny. No more fixing my eyeliner in the bathroom mirror between periods because someone might see me with 'bare skin'

I ended up at the creek behind the old abandoned warehouse. The water looked exactly like that Instagram aesthetic everyone chased but never actually achieved.

My phone buzzed. Twelve unread messages from the group chat.

*Chloe:urgent: party at Jake's Saturday, theme is 'old money', wear tweed*

*Chloe:urgent: we need to talk about your recent behavior*

*Chloe:urgent: are you coming??*

I tossed it onto the creek bank. Sat there watching the water move over smooth stones, thinking about how I'd spent three years climbing a pyramid that turned out to be made of

"Whatcha doing?"

I jumped. Marcus from AP Lit stood there holding two oranges.

"Running," I said.

He tossed me one. "Want one?"

And that was it. That was literally it. No expectations, no performance, no pyramid. Just an orange and someone who didn't care if I was 'cool' or not.

"You know," Marcus said, peeling his orange, "I always wondered why you hung out with them. You seemed miserable."

The words hit like someone finally articulating the thing you've been feeling but couldn't name.

"I was," I said.

He nodded like this was the most obvious thing in the world. "Well. You don't have to be."

I bit into my orange, juice running down my chin, and realized I hadn't tasted anything real in months. The pyramid scheme that was my social life collapsed in on itself with zero casualties except my own ego.

And nobody even noticed.

Which was somehow the most freeing thing of all.