Orange Peel at the End of the World

Maya scrolled through her iPhone with zombie-like precision, thumb flick, thumb flick, thumb flick. The basement party thumped with bass that vibrated in her teeth, but she felt like she was watching it through thick glass. Everyone else seemed to know the choreography of being sixteen — how to stand, how to laugh, how to exist without feeling like their skin was inside out.

She'd been here two hours and said approximately seven words. Her phone battery was at 23%, which felt vaguely like a metaphor.

"You look like you're mentally prepping for a zombie apocalypse," said a voice.

Maya looked up. A guy in an oversized flannel stood there, peeling an orange. Citrus scent cut through the stale basement air — cheap cologne and desperation and something that might have been vodka spilled behind the couch three weeks ago.

"I'm debating faking a family emergency," Maya said, which was absolutely not what she'd meant to say.

He grinned. "Classic. I'm Leo. I was literally just having the same internal debate."

"Why didn't you leave?"

"Someone brought those really good oranges from their mom's job at the grocery outlet." He held out a section. "Want? It's surprisingly life-changing."

Maya took it. The burst of juice was shocking — bright and electric against everything that was stale and performative about this party.

"You're Maya, right? You're in AP Euro with Jordan."

"That's me. The girl who sits in the back and looks like she's contemplating the existential dread of the Habsburg dynasty."

Leo laughed. It wasn't fake or performative. "Same. I once drew a really detailed picture of a potato during the lecture on the Congress of Vienna."

"Wait, really?"

"Mr. Harrison still has it taped to his desk. Says it's 'unexpectedly poignant.'"

Maya felt something shift in her chest — something tight loosening. For the first time all night, her iPhone stayed dark in her hand.

They talked about nothing and everything until someone yelled that the pizza had arrived. The zombie trance lifted. The party suddenly felt like something she could actually be part of.

"Hey," Leo said, "you wanna go outside? The stars are actually visible tonight. And I have another orange."

Maya grinned, feeling weirdly, terrifyingly hopeful. "Only if you promise not to make me discuss European monarchies."

"Deal."

Sometimes the apocalypse doesn't end with fire. Sometimes it ends with citrus and someone who sees you. Sometimes that's enough.