Spinach Between My Teeth

The cafeteria was doing that thing where the noise level hits chaotic maximum—trays slamming, voices competing, someone definitely about to drop something dramatic. I was trying to be invisible, which is basically my superpower since middle school, until Jake from AP Chem sat down across from me.

"Hey, you going to Maya's party?" he asked, all casual like his heart wasn't probably doing that same fluttery thing mine was doing.

"Maybe?" I said, attempting to channel my inner fox—sly, smooth, totally not panicking. "If I can ditch my family's dumb 'healthy eating' phase." I gestured at my pathetic tray of raw spinach leaves. My mom had decided we're all 'going holistic' which mostly means I'm constantly hungry.

Jake laughed, and I felt myself leaning in, actually engaging, when suddenly his friend Marcus appeared behind him like some kind of nightmare hype man.

"Bro," Marcus said, way too loud. "You got something right there—" and he pointed at his own teeth, grinning like this was hilarious.

My stomach dropped. I reached up with my palm to my mouth and there it was: a massive piece of spinach wedged between my front teeth, probably there all morning. All through first period, all through that conversation with Jake where I'd been thinking maybe—just maybe—I wasn't completely hopeless at social interaction.

"Oh my god," I whispered, wanting to dissolve right there.

"It's not that bad," Jake started, but the damage was done. I grabbed my tray and speed-walked to the bathroom, because dignity was already gone but I could at least not subject myself to further torture.

I spent the next ten minutes inspecting my teeth like my life depended on it, my hands shaking. When I finally walked out, Jake was waiting by the door, looking awkward in that way that makes your chest do stupid things.

"So," he said, "I still think you should come to the party. I mean, unless your strict spinach schedule conflicts?"

I groaned. "You're never letting this live, are you?"

"Nope." He grinned. "But hey, at least now I know you're actually human. You seemed kind of perfect otherwise."

And that's when it hit me—maybe being a messy, embarrassing, spinach-in-teeth kind of person wasn't the disaster I thought it was. Maybe it was just... real.

"Fine," I said. "I'll go. But you're buying me actual food. Something that doesn't taste like sadness."

"Deal." He held out his palm for a fist bump. "No spinach allowed."

"Deal."