Orange Peel & Dead Fish

The bathroom mirror reflected someone I barely recognized—me, but a zombie version with under-eye circles deep enough to plant flowers in. Three hours of sleep before the first party of sophomore year will do that to you.

"You good in there?" called Maya, my best friend since kindergarten. She'd dragged me to Tyler's house because "you can't spend Friday watching Netflix alone, that's literally sad."

"Coming," I choked out, applying one more layer of lip gloss. My braces flashed silver. Perfect. Nothing says cool like a fourteen-year-old with a mouth full of metal.

The kitchen was packed. Someone had spilled orange soda on the counter, sticky and bright against the marble. I grabbed a solo cup, poured something that looked like fruit punch, and immediately wished I hadn't.

"Who's that?" Maya whispered, nodding toward the corner.

I followed her gaze. Leo Carter, sophomore QB1, standing alone by a huge fish tank. Inside, a solitary goldfish stared blankly at the party, looking as out of place as I felt.

"No clue," I said, but I was lying. Everyone knew Leo. Football god, popular by default, the kind of guy who'd never notice someone like me.

Except he looked miserable. His phone was dead in his hand, screen black. No entourage. No fake laugh.

Before I could overthink it, my feet were moving. Smooth, Grace. Real smooth.

"Cool fish," I said. Immediately wanted to die.

Leo looked up, surprised. "Yeah. His name's Bubbles. My cousin won him at a carnival and then didn't want him."

"Bubbles," I repeated. "Bold choice."

He smiled—actually smiled, not the practiced one he wore for the yearbook photo. "What's your name?"

"Grace."

"Grace." He tested it like he was trying it on. "I'm Leo. Obviously. Everyone knows who I am, which sounds conceited but is actually just depressing."

"Depressing how?"

"Like, if I had a dollar for every person who only talks to me because I can throw a football..." He trailed off. "Anyway. You want to see something weird?"

"Always."

He pulled out his phone—wait, wasn't it dead? No, he'd pulled a different one from his pocket, an ancient iPhone with a cracked screen.

"Watch this." He tapped something, and a ringtone blared: the Fox song. "What does the fox say?"

"Please tell me you didn't—"

"Ring-ding-ding-ding-dingeringeding!" he sang, actually dancing, shoulders moving. Someone from the lacrosse team walked by, gave him a weird look. Leo didn't even care.

I started laughing. Couldn't help it.

"My little sister made me download it in sixth grade and I forgot it existed until now," he said, wiping tears from his eyes. "I was gonna delete it but honestly? It's my greatest treasure."

"Leo Carter, secret dork," I said. "Who knew?"

"Who knew," he echoed. Then his expression softened. "You're different than I thought you'd be."

"Because I'm not throwing myself at you?"

"Because you laughed at my terrible ringtone instead of pretending it didn't happen." His phone buzzed—his real phone this time. He checked it and sighed. "My mom's here. I gotta go."

"Oh."

"But Grace?" He hesitated. "There's this farmer's market tomorrow morning. My friend's dad sells fruit, including these papayas that'll change your life. No joke."

"Papayas," I repeated, trying not to smile.

"Okay, fine. It's an excuse. I wanted to see you again." He rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly awkward. "So?"

"I hate papaya," I said.

His face fell.

"But I'm free at ten."

The smile returned, brighter this time. "Ten it is."

As he walked away, I noticed something I'd missed before—the tips of his hair were dyed orange. Faded, growing out, but definitely there.

Maya appeared beside me, eyes wide. "Did that just happen?"

"I think," I said, watching him leave, "I think I have a date tomorrow."

"With Leo Carter?"

"With the guy who has a goldfish named Bubbles and an embarrassing ringtone."

Maya squealed. "You have to tell me everything."

"Tomorrow," I said. "Right now, I need to go home and sleep for twelve hours."

"Zombie Grace is back tomorrow?"

"Zombie Grace is indefinitely suspended," I said, and for the first time all night, it wasn't a lie.