Orange Peels & Secret Missions

Maya felt like a spy in her own high school, watching the popular girls glide through the hallway in their matching crop tops while she clutched her vitamin bottle like it was some kind of shield against normalcy. The anxiety meds her doctor prescribed made her hands shake sometimes, but nobody noticed. Nobody ever noticed the girl in the back row.

'You okay?' Riley asked, sliding onto the bench beside her. Maya's best friend since kindergarten, the only person who didn't look at her like she was fragile after The Panic Attack of sophomore year.

'Peachy.' Maya peeled her orange, the citrus scent cutting through the stale cafeteria air. 'Just another thrilling day of blending into the wallpaper.'

Riley rolled her eyes. 'Drama queen. You're not wallpaper. You're... vintage wallpaper. In a good way.'

'Gee, thanks.' Maya tossed an orange slice at her.

They'd met in fourth grade when Riley had found Maya crying behind the dumpster because her cat Mittens had run away. Riley had climbed in after her, ruined her favorite dress, and declared them best friends right there among the juice boxes and discarded homework. Some friendships just stick like that, superglued together by shared embarrassment and orange-stained fingers.

'So,' Riley lowered her voice. 'Operation Make Maya Social is officially a go.'

Maya groaned. 'You and your missions.'

'This one's different. Quinn's party on Friday. We're going. You, me, and yes, I already cleared it with your mom. She said you need "gentle exposure."'

Gentle exposure. Because Maya was a radioactive experiment now, something to be slowly introduced to the wild. But when she looked at Riley's hopeful face, all freckles and determination, she found herself nodding.

'Fine. But if I have a panic attack, I'm stealing your cat.'

'I don't have a cat.'

'Get one. As emotional support for my emotional support.'

Riley laughed, and Maya felt something loosen in her chest. Maybe high school wasn't about being the main character. Maybe it was about finding the one person who made spy missions feel like adventures instead of surveillance. And maybe, just maybe, she could handle one party. As long as there were oranges. And Riley. Always Riley.