Running From the Spotlight

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically water plants with them. This was it — the moment she'd been overthinking for three weeks straight. Jordan, the fox who'd somehow become the center of her entire universe, was standing across the cafeteria, and she was actually going to do it.

"You got this," Chloe whispered, aggressively fanning Maya with her notebook. "Just remember: he's just a guy. A hot, funny, insanely out-of-your-league guy, but still JUST a guy."

The school's social pyramid loomed over everything like a neon sign she couldn't unsee. Jordan floated near the top effortlessly — varsity track, somehow made pre-calc look easy, always surrounded by people who laughed like he was performing stand-up instead of just existing. Meanwhile, Maya was solidly middle-tier: theater kid, adequate student, currently mortified by the spinach stuck between her front teeth that she'd JUST discovered in her phone's reflection.

"Oh my GOD, why didn't you tell me?" she hissed at Chloe, frantically digging for her phone mirror.

"I thought it was part of your look! Artistic chaos!"

Jordan started walking toward their table, and Maya's brain executed a factory reset. This was her shot — ask him to the spring formal, or maybe just say literally anything that wasn't weird. But her legs had other ideas. She grabbed her backpack and bolted, running toward the gym doors like she was late for something life-or-death.

"Maya! WAIT!"

She didn't wait. She kept running until she reached the track behind the school, where she collapsed against the chain-link fence, heart hammering against her ribs. She'd just embarrassed herself so thoroughly that she'd need to transfer schools. Probably change her name. Move to another country.

"That was pretty dramatic," a voice said behind her.

She turned. Jordan was there, slightly winded, palm trees on his hoodie catching the afternoon light. "I was coming over to ask if you wanted to go to the formal together, but you took off like I was chasing you with a spider."

Maya stared. "Wait. WHAT?"

"I said —" He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. "I was gonna ask you to the dance. But first, you should probably check your teeth."

She groaned, covering her face with both hands. "The spinach. I'm never showing my face in public again."

"Nah, don't worry about it." He stepped closer. "So? About that dance?"