Orange Peel Secrets

My mom's vitamin collection sat on the kitchen counter like a accusation—those giant horse pills she swore would fix everything. My awkward phase. My skin. My entire existence.

"You'll thank me later," she'd say, dropping a neon orange pill into my palm every morning.

I swallowed them dry, already late for school where my social life was currently imploding.

I'd become a spy of sorts that semester—not the cool kind with gadgets and theme songs, but the desperate kind who lurked in hallways watching Jackson Miller between classes. Jackson, with his stupid perfect hair and the way he laughed like everything was genuinely funny.

The problem was Sabrina. Sabrina with her Jordans and her swagger and her apparent ownership of Jackson's attention. She'd cornered me by the lockers yesterday, her energy like electricity before a storm.

"You're that girl with the dog, right?"

My face burned. "Everyone's that girl with the dog."

Because Cooper—my ancient, wheezing golden retriever—had become Instagram famous without my permission. My neighbor had posted a video of him "singing" along to her clarinet practice, and suddenly my dog had more followers than me.

Sabrina had smirked. "Cool."

That's when I noticed it: the orange peel folded into tiny intricate origami stars on her binder. I'd been making those since seventh grade, a nervous habit I couldn't break.

My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to function.

That afternoon, I sat on my front porch with Cooper, feeding him bits of my orange while he snorted and wheezed beside me. My phone buzzed—a follow request from @sabrina_writes.

The next week, Sabrina caught me in the hallway, sliding something into my hand. Three orange-peel stars, each one perfect.

"My bull sh*t detector's pretty good," she whispered, nodding toward Jackson, who was currently holding court with his friends. "He's not worth the spy work."

I laughed, actually laughed, and something in my chest loosened.

That night, I swallowed my vitamin without complaining. Maybe some things really did help you grow—even if they weren't what you expected.