Spinach and the Social Pyramid

The cafeteria table arrangement was basically a pyramid scheme of popularity. Seniors at the top, juniors in the middle, and us sophomores scrambling for the leftovers at the bottom. Today, I'd accidentally snagged a seat near the base — close enough to overhear, far enough to be invisible.

Until Jordan, the junior whose smile could apparently cure global warming, slid into the spot across from me.

"Hey, you're in my chem class, right?"

My palms immediately started sweating. Like, actually sweating. I gripped my tray so hard my knuckles turned white. "Uh, yeah. Chemistry. The one with Mr. Harrison's dad jokes."

He laughed. And then his eyes dropped to my teeth.

My heart sank. I'd packed a lunch today — spinach salad with feta, because I was trying to be healthy and sophisticated. But apparently, I'd failed the sophisticated part because Jordan was staring at something green and leafy currently decorating my front teeth like获奖 holiday wreath.

"You got a little..." He gestured at his own teeth, looking genuinely concerned.

I wanted the floor to open up. I wanted the actual earth to swallow me whole. Instead, I grabbed my water bottle and chugged like I'd been wandering in a desert for forty years, swishing aggressively.

"Thanks," I muttered, wiping my mouth.

"No problem. Happens to everyone." And then, because the universe apparently hadn't finished torturing me: "So, anyway, I was gonna ask if you wanted to study for the midterm together?"

I almost did a spit-take with my water.

Wait, WHAT?

Jordan, who sat at the apex of the social pyramid, wanted to study with me, Spinach Teeth Girl?

"Seriously?"

"Yeah." He actually looked nervous now. "I mean, if you want to. You got that A on the last test, and I'm barely hanging on."

The spinach incident hadn't mattered. The pyramid wasn't as rigid as I'd thought. Sometimes, the ground beneath your feet isn't as solid — or as scary — as you believe.

"Yeah," I said, and my palms stopped sweating. "Yeah, I'd like that."