Palm Sweats & Pocket Spies

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically water-ski on her hands. Welcome to freshman year, where your body betrays you at the worst possible moments.

She was practically a zombie after last night's TikTok spiral—her phone, that glowing screen of doom, still clutched in her left hand. She'd become a professional at this: the digital spy, scrolling through Jordan's posts at 2 AM, analyzing whether his new profile pic meant he was finally over his ex or just really into lighting filters.

"You good?" Kai asked, dropping onto the bench beside her. Maya shoved her phone deep into her pocket like it contraband.

"Totally chill," she lied. Her voice cracked. Great.

Kai was her oldest friend, the kind who'd seen her through braces, bad haircuts, and that unfortunate phase where she wore exclusively neon. But something had shifted this year. Maybe it was the way he now leaned against lockers like he belonged in a music video, while Maya was still trying to figure out which cafeteria table wouldn't socially destroy her.

"Jordan's having a thing Friday," Kai said, all casual-like, but his eyes were doing that searching thing. "You should come."

Maya's stomach did something complicated. "Like... with everyone?"

"Just some people." He smirked. "Why, scared?"

She wanted to be brave. She wanted to be the girl who showed up to parties and made people laugh, not the one hovering by the snack table like a anxious ghost.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably another Instagram notification. Another trap. She was so tired of being the spy in everyone else's life, watching from the edges while actual people did actual things.

"I'll be there," Maya said, and something in her chest untwisted.

"Bet." Kai grinned, and for a second, it was just them again—Maya and Kai, partners in minor crimes and major awkwardness.

Later that night, Maya finally opened her bottom drawer and pulled out Barnaby, the stuffed bear she'd somehow kept since she was seven. His left ear was missing and his fur matted, but his button eyes still held zero judgment.

"I think I might be brave tomorrow," she told him. Barnaby said nothing, but his silence felt like permission.

Her phone sat on her desk, dark. She left it there.

Some battles were worth fighting alone.