Orange Soda Courage

The orange stain on my white Vans was basically a crime against freshman year fashion. I'd been standing by the punch bowl for twenty minutes, nursing the same cup of flat orange soda like it was my only personality trait, watching everyone else live their best lives at Skylar's party.

Across the room, Tyler—Westwood's resident golden boy, varsity jacket-wearing, hair-perfectly-messy—was holding court with his squad. He'd called me "dog" in third period like it was supposed to be friendly, but we both knew what it meant. Bottom of the food chain. Not worth his time unless he needed someone to laugh at.

"You gonna stand there all night or what?"

I jumped. It was Maya, sliding up beside me, grabbing her own cup of punch. Her hair was this wild orange situation that she'd clearly dyed in her bathroom last week, and it was honestly iconic. She pulled it off like she didn't care what anyone thought. Which, rumor had it, she didn't.

"Just vibing," I lied, because admitting I was socially anxious would make me lame.

"Tyler's been staring at you," she said, not looking up from her phone. "Like, actually staring. Not the 'let's laugh at the freshman' stare either."

"Bull." The word slipped out before I could stop it.

Maya finally looked up, eyebrows raised. "Seriously. He's coming over."

And sure enough, Tyler was weaving through the crowd, and suddenly my heart was doing that thing where it forgot how to rhythm properly. The orange soda in my hand was shaking, just enough to be embarrassing.

"Hey," Tyler said, stopping way too close. "You're Marcus, right? From Mr. Henderson's class?"

"Yeah."

"Cool shoes." He gestured to my Vans, and I waited for it—the punchline, the roast, the collective laughter from his friends nearby. But Tyler just nodded, like he actually meant it. "That orange color is sick, honestly."

Maya snorted into her punch. Tyler grinned, all genuine, none of his usual performance.

"Anyway," he said, "I was gonna ask if you wanted to join our Fortnite squad later? We need a fourth and Jay said you're cracked at the game."

I looked at Maya, who was full-on grinning now. Looked at Tyler, who was actually waiting for an answer like I was a real person. Looked down at my ridiculous orange-stained shoes.

"Yeah," I said, and it came out easy. "Yeah, I'm down."

Sometimes the night doesn't go how you expect it to. Sometimes you don't have to be someone else to fit in. And sometimes, apparently, Tyler from varsity baseball plays Fortnite and isn't actually a walking stereotype.

"Cool," he said, backing away. "See you in a bit, dog."

And this time? It didn't feel like an insult at all.