Orange Peel Apocalypse

Maya's iphone screen cracked at 2:47 AM on a Tuesday, which felt like the universe's way of telling her she'd been doomscrolling TikTok until her eyes burned. But that wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was that Jackson—the cute barista from Blue Bottle whose Stories she'd been stalking—had finally replied to her DM at 2:44 AM. Three minutes of absolute euphoria, followed by *crack* and now she'd never know if he wanted to grab boba or was just being polite because his manager was standing right there.

Maya groaned into her pillow. Junior year was treating her like a zombie—slow, shambling, barely alive. Wake up, school, volleyball practice, homework, sleep deprivation repeat. She was starting to feel like everyone else was moving at normal speed while she lagged behind, groaning "braaaains" but mostly just craving an iced oat milk latte and maybe four hours of uninterrupted sleep.

Her phone still worked. Mostly. A spiderweb of shattered glass across Jackson's message—*that cafe downtown? Saturday?*—which felt ominous or auspicious depending on how much she overthought it. (She was overthinking it. A lot.)

"Maya! Breakfast!" Her mom's voice carried up the stairs.

Maya dragged herself upright. Applied concealer with the precision of a forensic scientist covering up evidence. Today was an orange day—her lucky crochet sweater that matched absolutely nothing but made her feel like she had her aesthetic together. Fake it till you make it, right?

At school, Chloe grabbed her arm. "Did you see Jasmine's post? She's literally posting Jordan's hoodie like they're dating or something."

"Jasmine posted Jordan's hoodie?" Maya echoed, trying to summon appropriate shock. Truth was, she'd stopped caring about the Jordan-Jasmine-Chloe triangle weeks ago. It was exhausting just following along.

"And get this," Chloe lowered her voice, "she FaceTimed him. At 3 AM. While he was 'asleep.'"

The zombie feeling deepened. This was what passed for drama now—analyzing timestamps and screenshotting indirects. Sometimes Maya missed middle school, when the biggest scandal was who got caught passing notes in Mr. Henderson's class. At least then, they were actually talking to each other.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket during third period. Maya's heart did this embarrassing flutter thing.

Jackson: *my screen cracked too lol what are the odds*

Maya stared. The universe wasn't telling her to stop doomscrolling. It was telling her something else—something about broken screens and imperfect timing and how sometimes things crack open in exactly the right way.

She typed back, fingers shaking just a little: *the universe wants us to get coffee obviously*

Then she added the orange emoji. For luck.

Jackson replied instantly. *Saturday. 2pm. don't be late*

Maybe she wasn't a zombie after all. Maybe she was just waking up.