Spinach Can Pyramid

Maya stared at the pyramid of spinach cans towering from her locker like some weird monument to her mom's health kick phase. "Okay, nobody saw that," she muttered, shoving the cans into her backpack before Jake from AP Bio could walk by and witness the social equivalent of unaliving herself.

"Nice pyramid," Jake said, appearing exactly when she didn't want him to. He leaned against the locker, all effortless cool and curly hair. "Building a spinach empire?"

Maya's face burned. "It's not—I mean, my mom's on this diet thing, and I didn't want to throw them out, and—" She stopped. Why was she explaining her life to Jake?

"I actually dig it," he said, like he wasn't being sarcastic for once. "It's... unexpectedly aesthetic." He pulled out his phone. "Can I?"

She blinked. "You want a picture of my spinach pyramid?"

"For the aesthetics. My sister's into that cottagecore stuff. She'd lose it."

Maya hesitated, then rebuilt the pyramid while Jake snapped photos like she was creating art instead of just being really embarrassed about her family's vegetable consumption. Then his phone buzzed.

"Shit, I gotta—" He checked his palm, where someone had drawn a little smiley face in Sharpie. "My sister's at this fair thing, wants me to come to this palm reader booth with her. You wanna come?"

She almost said no. Almost. But Jake was looking at her like he actually wanted her to say yes, and her palm wasn't exactly busy with anything else.

"Sure," she heard herself say. "But I'm bringing the spinach."

Jake laughed, actual laugh-laugh. "Obviously. The aesthetic demands it."

Later, as some questionable psychic told Maya she'd "find fortune in green gardens," she caught Jake's eye across the booth. He was trying not to laugh at the ridiculousness of it all, and when their hands accidentally brushed while grabbing the same carnival snack, Maya's palm tingled in a way that definitely wasn't about any fortune telling.

Maybe the spinach cans weren't so embarrassing after all.