Riddle of the Smoothie King

Maya's palms were sweating so hard she could practically water plants with them. Which would've been helpful, considering the amount of tropical foliage surrounding her at Miami Arts Academy. But mostly, it was just embarrassing.

"You're up next," whispered Jordan, the guy with perfect hair and a smile that made everyone forget their own names. He'd been assigned as her "buddy" for orientation week, which was terrible because Maya had approximately zero chill around him.

The sphinx statue in the school courtyard seemed to mock her. "Answer my riddle or face eternal doom," its stone face appeared to say. Or maybe that was just Maya's anxiety talking.

"What's the monologue again?" Jordan asked.

"Lady Macbeth," Maya squeaked. "Because nothing says 'welcome to high school theater' like plotting regicide."

He laughed. An actual laugh. Not a polite courtesy laugh, but the real kind that crinkled his eyes. Maya's stomach did something questionable that had nothing to do with breakfast.

Her cat, Miso, would've judged her so hard right now. Miso didn't believe in crushes—Miso believed in kibble and existential disdain.

Lunch was an adventure in culinary terrorism. The papaya in the fruit salad looked suspiciously like something that had already been eaten once. Maya picked at her food, hyper-aware that she was sitting at the Cool Table by accident.

Then came the spinach incident.

Someone had made a joke—something about the drama teacher's collection of questionable scarves—and Maya laughed with her mouth full. The spinach piece launched itself precisely between her front teeth, like a tiny green torpedo of social destruction.

Jordan was looking right at her.

"You have a little..." He gestured at his own teeth, smiling like this was cute instead of absolutely devastating.

Maya contemplated faking her own death. Or transferring to a school in Antarctica. Or both.

"Thanks," she muttered, scraping it out with her tongue. "That's it. I'm done. This was my one shot at normal and I blew it."

"Dude," Jordan said. "Last week, I tripped over nothing in the cafeteria and faceplanted into a pudding cup. In front of everyone."

"Really?"

"Chocolate. Banana. I looked like I'd been attacked by a dessert volcano." He shrugged. "Nobody cares as much as you think they do."

Maya's palms stopped sweating. Miso would still judge her, but maybe—just maybe—high school wouldn't be completely terrible after all.