Orange Soda Summer

Maya pressed her back against the rough bark of the palm tree, heart doing that stupid fluttery thing it always did when Lucas was around. She wasn't technically spying — okay, maybe she was definitely spying, but whatever. It's not stalking if it's mutual pining from afar, right?

The beach bonfire crackled behind her, but Maya stayed hidden in the shadows, nursing her melting orange soda. The condensation on the can matched the nervous sweat on her palms. She'd spent forty-five minutes getting ready, only to spend the last hour lurking like a total creep while everyone else actually, you know, socialized.

"Dude, just go talk to him already."

Maya jumped, spilling sticky orange soda on her favorite cut-offs. Her best friend Keisha materialized from the darkness, looking unimpressed.

"I'm not ready," Maya hissed. "I'm basically failing at life right now. My outfit's wrong, my hair's frizzing, and I've been hiding behind this tree for twenty minutes like a weirdo."

"You're not failing, you're overthinking." Keisha leaned against the palm tree. "Besides, I saw Lucas looking for you earlier."

Maya's stomach did a flip. "Really?"

"No, I'm lying. But he could be. You'll never know if you don't stop swimming in your head and actually test the waters."

"That's the worst mixed metaphor I've ever heard."

"I'm serious! You've been crushing on Lucas since seventh grade, and now we're juniors. At some point, Maya, you gotta just jump in. The water's fine, or it's not, but either way, you'll know."

Behind them, someone laughed — that specific, genuine laugh that made Maya's chest feel tight. She peeked around the palm tree. Lucas was standing near the bonfire, framed by ocean waves and firelight, looking unfairly good even in his weird Hawaiian shirt.

Something shifted in Maya's chest. Maybe it was the sugar rush from her orange soda, or maybe Keisha was right about the whole not-knowing thing. Either way, her legs were moving before her brain could protest.

"Wait, what are you—" Keisha started, but Maya was already walking toward the fire, toward Lucas, toward whatever happened next.

Her palms were sweating. Her orange-stained shorts were probably ruined. This was absolutely terrifying.

But sometimes, Maya thought as Lucas spotted her and smiled, that's kind of the point.