Spinach in My Teeth

I looked like a zombie. No, scratch that — zombies at least had the excuse of being undead. I was just seventeen, running on three hours of sleep and an iced coffee that had stopped being cold two hours ago.

"You've got spinach in your teeth," Mia said, barely looking up from her phone.

I froze. Mia Chen, sophomore goddess, captain of the padel team, was talking to me. Actually talking to me. And I had spinach in my teeth.

I'd been working at my dad's restaurant since sixth grade, busing tables while everyone else was at parties or practice or literally anywhere that wasn't smelling like garlic and disappointment. But someone had to do it. Someone always had to do it.

"Thanks," I mumbled, reaching for a napkin.

She watched me, almost amused. "You wear that hat every day. Is it, like, your thing?"

My hand went to my beanie automatically. I never took it off. Underneath was the truth: my hair was a mess because I hadn't figured out who I was supposed to be yet, and covering it up felt easier than explaining.

"It's comfortable," I said.

"Whatever." She adjusted her own perfect ponytail. "Hey, you play padel?"

"What?"

"Padel. The sport. We need a fourth for mixed doubles tomorrow. Jake bailed, obviously."

Jake was her boyfriend. Or had been, until last week when everyone's Instagram stories simultaneously revealed he'd been cheating with half the debate team.

"I've literally never held a racquet in my life," I admitted.

"Perfect." She actually smiled. "Neither has anyone else on the JV team. You're in."

"I'm working tomorrow—"

"Skip it." She stood up, leaving cash on the table. "Live a little, zombie boy."

I watched her walk away. Then I looked at the spinach stuck to my napkin, green and ridiculous and honest.

My dad came out of the kitchen, looking exhausted. His shoulders were permanently hunched now, like he was carrying something heavy. Like he was bearing the weight of everything he couldn't give me.

"You okay, Marcus?"

"Yeah." I pulled off my hat. "Actually, I think I might need tomorrow off."

He nodded like he understood. Like he'd been seventeen once too, before life became something you endured instead of lived.

"Go," he said. "Before you change your mind."

The bear cub mascot head from the elementary school down the street sat on a shelf, watching me. Stupid thing. But tomorrow, I'd show up without spinach in my teeth, without the hat, without the excuses. Maybe I'd be terrible at padel. Probably would. But for once, I'd be there — really there — instead of just walking through it like the living dead.

Mia was right. It was time to live a little.