Spinach in the Bear Suit

The bear costume smelled like every birthday party disaster from the last decade. That's what I got for being the new guy at Party Planet - stuck inside five pounds of polyester fur while third graders poked my stomach.

"You look ridiculous," Maya said from behind the sunglasses counter. She was working phone cases and making it look effortless, while I was sweating through my undershirt at 10 AM.

"It's character building," I mumbled through the mesh mouth. "Also, my manager said if I take this off, I'm cleaning the bounce house."

Maya laughed, and I felt my stomach do that thing where it forgets how to be an organ. We'd been flirting since school started, but she was way out of my league - senior class vice president, AP everything, probably had a ten-year plan.

My phone buzzed in the costume's hidden pocket. Derek: *dude some foxes got into the backyard again. ur dog is losing it*

Great. Between Derek (who claimed he was my best friend but hadn't texted me first since homecoming) and my mom's rescue dog who treated every squirrel like a personal insult, my life was a comedy routine nobody had asked for.

Maya walked over, adjusting her Party Planet nametag. "So, I heard there's this party at Tyler's Friday."

"Yeah?" I said, trying to sound chill and failing.

"I was gonna go with some friends. You should come."

"Totally," I said, then immediately: "Wait, really?"

"Unless you'd rather stay home and cuddle with your dog."

"How did you know about -"

"I saw you walking him yesterday. He's cute. You're... okay too."

I spent the next twenty minutes panicking about what to wear, what to say, and how to explain that my social life had imploded when my only friend group dissolved over sophomore year drama.

When I finally took my break and found a bathroom mirror, spinach. A giant, obvious piece of spinach from my lunch smoothie, stuck between my front teeth like a green flag of social suicide.

How long had Maya been looking at it while talking to me?

"Bear," I whispered to my reflection. "You are such a bear."

Then I cleaned it up, put the polyester head back on, and went back to work. Maya was waiting by the sunglasses counter, pretending to rearrange displays.

"So, Friday," she said. "Pick me up at seven?"

"It's a date," I said, before I could talk myself out of it.

Maybe third graders poking my stomach was character building after all.