Orange Palm Fridays

The first Friday of freshman year, Jax stood outside Tyler's house wearing his grandfather's fedora because his mom said it looked "distinguished." It didn't. It looked like what it was: a fifteen-year-old trying too hard to be something he wasn't.

Inside, the bass from Tyler's speaker system rattled the windows. Jax's palms were already sweating against the glass of orange soda he'd been clutching for twenty minutes. His older sister had promised high school parties were different—less awkward, more fun—but so far, it was just middle school with better lighting and more cologne.

"Hey, nice hat."

Jax spun around so fast he almost spilled his drink. Maya Chen stood there, wearing this oversized sweatshirt that swallowed her hands and somehow made her look cooler than anyone else in the room.

"It's my grandpa's," Jax said, then immediately wanted to die.

"No, I like it. It's brave." She stepped closer. "I've been hiding in the kitchen with Ty's cat for the last hour because my social battery died at like nine."

"Ty has a cat?"

"Garfield. Orange tabby. Hides under the sofa whenever someone drops something." She jerked her head toward the backyard. "Wanna help me find him? He usually goes to the palm tree by the fence when it gets too loud."

They ended up sitting cross-legged in the grass, Garfield sleeping between them while Maya talked about her dream of becoming a marine biologist and Jax confessed he still watched cartoons with his little brother every Saturday morning.

"My dog would lose her mind if she knew I was hanging out with a cat," Jax said, scratching Garfield behind the ears.

"What kind?"

"Golden retriever. Named Cheeto because he's obsessed with cheese puffs. My brother says it's embarrassing but honestly, what isn't at our age?"

Maya laughed, and something in Jax's chest loosened. The hat, the sweating palms, the constant worry about saying the wrong thing—it all faded into the background noise.

"Hey," she said, touching his shoulder. "You're weird. But like, good weird."

"Good weird. I'll take it."

"Next Friday," Maya said, standing up and brushing grass from her jeans, "wear the hat again. But maybe also wear something that doesn't look like you're about to sell newspapers on a street corner in 1925."

Jax grinned so wide his face hurt. "I'll see what I can do."

Walking home an hour later, fedora in hand and orange soda finished, Jax realized something: high school might still be awkward, but maybe that was okay. Sometimes the best moments happened when you stopped trying to be cool and just let yourself be seen.