Orange Peel at Sunset

Maya's first week at Northwood High felt like perpetually treading water—exhausting, invisible effort, zero forward momentum. She'd left her old school after the Incident That Shall Not Be Named, which everyone definitely would name eventually.

The only bright spot? The orange.

Every day at lunch, Lucas sat two tables away, effortlessly peeling oranges in one long spiral like some kind of citrus wizard. Maya was mesmerized. It was the coolest, weirdest thing she'd ever seen, which was pathetic because she was supposedly here for "academic excellence."

Then came day three of tryouts for everything—swim team, cross country, basically any activity that said "I belong here."

"You're trying out?" Chloe, the team captain, raised an eyebrow at Maya's baggy practice suit. "What's your best event?"

"Uh... 50 free?" Maya lied smoothly. She'd almost drowned at summer camp once.

Chloe nodded. "Cool. We'll see."

Pool water hit Maya like ice. Her limbs rebelled. Two laps in, her lungs screamed. But she kept going because quitting meant awkward conversations in the locker room afterward.

After, someone passed her a towel. Lucas.

"You looked like you were fighting a shark," he said.

"I was literally doing doggy paddle by the end."

"Same." He sat beside her on the bench. "I'm only here because my mom says I need 'structured physical activity.' Which is rich considering she thinks walking to the fridge counts as cardio."

Maya laughed. Then watched, hypnotized, as he pulled an orange from his bag and started peeling it—the spiral, the whole thing, like he'd been doing it forever.

"Teach me," she blurted.

"What?"

"The orange thing. It's sick."

He grinned, passing her the fruit. "It's all about starting right." Their fingers brushed. Maya's heart did something genuinely problematic.

Friday afternoon, cross-country tryouts. Because one humiliation per week wasn't enough.

Her sneakers slammed pavement. Lungs burning. Legs screaming why. Why this. Why anything.

Then she saw Lucas ahead, also struggling, also terrible at this.

"Race you!" he yelled back.

Maya grinned and sprinted. They collapsed together at the finish line, wheezing, sweaty, absolutely not making the team.

"We're terrible at sports," he said.

"Honestly."

"Wanna get orange juice and fail at something else? Like, I don't know, conversation skills?"

Maya's chest did that fluttery thing that definitely wasn't from running. "Depends. Can you teach me the spiral?"

Lucas smiled. "I've got time."