Recipe for Disaster

The spinach lay limp and defeated in the colander, looking exactly how I felt—drained, wilted, and questioning every life choice that led to this moment.

"You got this, Maya," Leo said from my bed, not looking up from his phone. "Just add water to the packet. Easy."

Easy for him to say. He wasn't the one trying to impress Sarah Chen with homemade pasta when his cooking experience topped out at cereal and toast. But when she'd mentioned loving guys who could cook during lunch yesterday, I'd heard my cue.

The pot of water on the stove started hissing. Steam curled toward the ceiling like smoke signals announcing my impending doom. I dumped in the spinach—because adding greens made everything fancy and healthy, right?

"Dude," Leo said. "That's a lot of green."

"It's antioxidant-rich," I said, feeling defensive.

Outside, the sky had been grumbling all afternoon. Then it happened—CRACK. Lightning split the sky, so bright it flashed through the kitchen window. The power flickered and died.

"No, no, no." I scrambled for my phone, using the flashlight app to peer into the pot. The water was still boiling, but now the spinach had turned everything into a murky green swamp that looked like something from a sci-fi movie.

"That's not pasta," Leo observed, finally sitting up. "That's radioactive sludge."

"It's rustic spinach-infused handmade noodles," I lied.

My phone buzzed. Sarah: *Running a bit late! Can't wait to try your cooking! *

I stared at the pot. At the green disaster. At the thunder still shaking the windows.

Leo slid off the bed. "Okay. New plan. We order pizza, you put the green sludge in a fancy bowl, tell her it's an experimental side dish, and we pray she has a sense of humor."

"Or," I said, "I could just tell her the truth. That I tried too hard, the power went out, and I'm a disaster in the kitchen but I make an excellent pizza-orderer."

Leo grinned. "Honesty. Bold move, Chen. I respect it." He paused. "But also, we're definitely ordering extra cheese."

Maybe the spinach was ruined. Maybe the lightning had killed the power. But somehow, laughing at my absolute failure with my best friend while waiting for a pepperoni pizza felt exactly like being sixteen—messy, ridiculous, and weirdly perfect.