Running Without Likes

Maya pulled her dad's old snapback low over her forehead, the brim creating a shadow that felt like armor. Under the hat's shelter, she could finally breathe without checking if her expression was selfie-ready. Without the hat, she felt naked—a feeling her iPhone had made worse since seventh grade, when her followers became her second heartbeat.

"You coming?" Jordan called from the edge of the track. "Coach said we're doing two miles today."

Maya's pocket buzzed. Her friends were arguing in the group chat about who sat with whom at lunch. She ignored it—a first. "Yeah," she said, "I'm running."

She didn't mean the workout.

Her phone sat in her locker, dark and powerless. She'd turned it off after third period when her crush posted a photo with someone else—someone who didn't need a hat to hide behind. The comments had spiraled: rumors, speculation, people tagging her like she was entertainment. Her stomach had twisted into knots that still hadn't undone.

The first lap was punishment. Her legs burned, her lungs screamed, but the rhythm of her sneakers against the rubber track drowned out the phantom notification sounds that lived in her head. By the second lap, something shifted. The hat caught the wind. For the first time in forever, nobody was watching. Nobody was commenting. Nobody knew where she was or what she looked like or who she was supposedly dating.

She wasn't Maya-the-influencer's-best-friend or Maya-whose-crush-didn't-like-her-back or even Maya-who-hid-under-hats. She was just running. Her heart hammered, but not from anxiety this time.

Jordan fell into step beside her. "You okay? You look..."

Maya adjusted her hat, smiling. "I'm good."

And she was. The hat, the running, the absence of her iPhone's glow—they weren't hiding her anymore. They were freeing her. For the first time, the real Maya was catching up to the girl everyone thought they knew.