Orange Stains at Midnight

The kitchen reeked of cheap vodka and something burning. I pressed my back against the refrigerator, nursing a flat orange soda that was probably older than my problems. Somewhere in the living room, bass thumped like a second heartbeat I hadn't asked for.

"You look like you're plotting murder," said a voice from behind me.

I jumped. A guy leaned against the counter, grinning like he knew something I didn't. He had this chaotic hair that defied gravity and eyes that were definitely too sharp for 2 AM.

"Just plotting my escape," I admitted, surprising myself.

"Join the club." He held up a red solo cup. "I'm hiding from my ex. She's somewhere out there, probably telling everyone I'm emotionally unavailable."

"Are you?"

"I'm seventeen. I'm supposed to be emotionally unavailable." He shrugged. "I'm Marcus, by the way."

"Maya."

He gestured to my cup. "That orange soda? That's brave. Someone spiked the punch bowl earlier. I saw three people crying in the bathroom within twenty minutes."

"This is why I don't do parties," I said, suddenly grateful for my uncool drink choice.

Marcus laughed, and it was genuinely nice, not performative. "Same. My cat gets better social interaction than I do, and she mostly just judges me from across the room."

"What's your cat's name?"

"Bear. She's this tiny orange thing that thinks she's a predator. It's ironic, I guess. Like all of high school."

Something shifted in me, something I hadn't felt since elementary school before everything got complicated. "My neighbor has a palm tree that drops fruit in our yard at night. It's always been my favorite sound—like tiny bombs going off, but peaceful? Does that make sense?"

"Perfect sense." He looked at me for real, not through me. "We should probably leave before someone starts doing karaoke."

"Is that a thing? People doing karaoke at house parties?"

"It's a nightmare scenario I've witnessed twice. Come on." He opened the back door. "I know a place that's still serving actual food."

I looked at my untouched orange soda, then at him, then at the door leading to everything I was supposed to want but suddenly didn't.

"Let me just grab my jacket," I said.

The cool air hit my face as we stepped outside, and for the first time all night, I could actually breathe. Bear the cat would've approved.