Orange Soda Courage

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she had to wipe them on her jeans—again. The red solo cup in her hand shook slightly as she leaned against the kitchen island, trying to look like she belonged at Jake Crawford's house party. Like she wasn't the girl who'd spent Friday nights watching Netflix until two weeks ago.

"You gonna spy on him all night or actually talk to him?" Chloe whispered, appearing beside her with a knowing grin. Chloe, who'd somehow mastered the art of being effortlessly cool since seventh grade, when she'd shown up with a different-colored streak in her hair every week.

"I'm not spying," Maya lied, her eyes drifting back to Jake across the room. He was laughing with his friends, that easy smile that made her stomach do unnecessary gymnastics. "I'm observing. There's a difference."

"Whatever you say, FBI." Chloe gestured to Maya's cup. "By the way, you've been nursing that orange soda for forty-five minutes. It's probably flat by now."

Maya looked down at her cup. Orange Fanta. Jake's favorite. She'd spent twenty minutes at 7-Eleven staring at the soda section like her life depended on it, googling "what drinks do popular people like" as if that was normal human behavior.

"I saw him wearing this shirt that said 'BEAR HUGS ONLY' at the game last week," Maya whispered, "and I literally almost walked into a locker."

Chloe snorted. "You're down bad."

"Shut up."

"No, seriously, go talk to him. What's the worst that happens?"

Maya's brain supplied approximately 47 worst-case scenarios in 0.3 seconds.

But then Jake looked up, caught her eye, and actually smiled. Not the polite smile you give strangers. The real one. And suddenly her feet were moving before her brain could process what a terrible idea this was.

"Hey!" Jake said, like he was actually glad she'd walked over. "You're Maya, right? You sit behind me in bio."

She was going to throw up. In a good way? Was that a thing?

"Yeah!" Her voice came out weirdly high. "That's me. Biology. Behind you. Sometimes."

Chloe was going to have a field day with this later.

"Cool." Jake gestured to his cup. "I love your shirt. That orange color? Sick."

Maya looked down at her vintage orange tee she'd almost thrown out last month because she thought it was too bright. "Thanks! I got it at this thrift store—"

"No way, you thrift too?" Jake's eyes lit up. "Dude, I found this bear sweater at Goodwill last week, it's hideous but I love it."

They talked for twenty minutes. About thrift stores, about how weird bio class was, about how neither of them understood why everyone acted like high school was the best years of their lives. Maya forgot to wipe her palms on her jeans. She forgot to feel like she didn't belong.

Later, when Jake finally said he'd text her about that vintage store downtown, Maya found Chloe by the kitchen island.

"Well?" Chloe raised an eyebrow.

Maya couldn't stop grinning. "He thrifts."

Chloe's jaw dropped. "You're kidding. That's literally perfect."

"I know, right?" Maya took a sip of her definitely-flat orange soda and didn't even care. "Also, he texted me. Like, actually texted."

"The FBI agent strikes again," Chloe said, bumping her shoulder. "Told you spying would pay off."