Smoothie Summer Social Makeover

Maya's first day at The Green Goddess, the trendiest juice bar in three counties, coincided with her first encounter with Barnaby—the shop's resident **cat**, who regarded her with the judgement of a thousand indie music snobs.

"Don't mind him," said Jordan, the assistant manager whose flannel game was unfairly strong. "He's just mad we're out of the good **papaya**."

Maya, dressed in the humiliating uniform visor that barely counted as a **hat**, nodded while frantically trying to remember the difference between kale and spinach. Which was unfortunate, because the customer waiting at the counter had definitely ordered the Emerald Machine smoothie with organic **spinach**, not kale.

"So," Jordan continued, apparently oblivious to Maya's impending mental breakdown, "there's this party tonight at Dylan's. You should come. Bring your friends."

The problem was: Maya didn't really have friends yet. She'd moved to town two weeks before sophomore year ended, and her social circle was basically her mom and the Netflix algorithm. This job was supposed to change that.

"Maybe," Maya managed, while accidentally double-cupping a smoothie.

But she did go. And it was fine, until it wasn't fine. She was standing near the snack table when someone's pet **cat** (why did everyone have cats?) knocked over a bowl of mixed fruit—including **papaya**—all over her favorite vintage **hat**. The one she'd worn specifically to look cool and mysterious.

"That's tragic," said a girl with purple hair who looked like she belonged in a coming-of-age movie montage. "But also kind of iconic?"

"It's ruined," Maya said, trying not to cry because she was sixteen and that would be social suicide.

"Nah," Purple Hair Girl said. "It's a conversation starter. I'm Riley, by the way. You're the new girl from the juice bar, right? Jordan said you accidentally put cilantro in someone's beet smoothie yesterday."

Maya blinked. "He told people about that?"

"He said it was legendary. Also, I think I love your **hat** like that. It looks intentional."

Later, as Maya helped clean up the fruit salad disaster (the **papaya** was everywhere, it was basically a crime scene), Riley texted her: tomorrow we should get smoothies but make them actually terrible.

Maya smiled, **spinach** still somehow under her fingernails, and typed back: absolutely.