Spinach Palm Incident

The cafeteria hummed with that specific Wednesday energy — everyone simultaneously exhausted and weirdly hype. Jordan slumped at their usual table, aggressively stabbing at the school's mystery-greenery.

"Dude, are you actually eating that spinach?" Maya raised an eyebrow, sliding into the seat across from them. "Bold choice for someone who threw up after the dodgeball tournament yesterday."

"It's not spinach," Jordan lied, though the evidence was literally on their fork. "It's... artisanal greens. The lunch lady said they're locally sourced."

Maya snorted. "Jordan. We live in suburban Ohio. The only thing locally sourced here is existential dread."

Jordan's face burned. They'd been trying so hard lately to reinvent themselves — new school year, new vibe, new Jordan who didn't trip over their own feet or say "you too" when waiters said "enjoy your meal." Junior year was supposed to be their glow-up era, not the year they became the person who ate questionable cafeteria spinach alone.

Their phone buzzed. A text from Alex: party at Devin's tonight. u coming???

Jordan's palms instantly started sweating. They'd been invited to exactly two parties in their life, and at both, they'd spent the entire time petting the host's dog in the bathroom because the bathroom dog was safer than attempting to socialize with people who definitely knew how to use the word 'rizz' correctly in sentences.

"You should go," Maya said, reading Jordan's face like always. "Seriously. It'll be fine."

"Easy for you to say," Jordan muttered. "You didn't accidentally call Mrs. Henderson 'mom' last week."

"That was ONE TIME and she literally had homemade cookies! Who wouldn't have mommy issues in that moment?"

Jordan cracked a smile. Maya had been their person since sixth grade, back when Jordan's biggest problem was that their growth spurt came with proportional coordination skills of a newborn giraffe.

"Hey." Maya's voice softened. "Remember what you said? About this being the year you stop waiting for things to happen?"

Jordan looked at their hands, then deliberately placed their palm flat on the table — a grounding technique their therapist had suggested. Their palms were still sweaty, but something about the contact felt solid. Real.

"Yeah," Jordan said. "Yeah, okay. I'll go."

"Who's the good boy?" a voice called from the next table.

Jordan's head shot up. Was someone —

"Not you, Jordan," said Tyler, gesturing to the dog wandering through the cafeteria. Devin's golden retriever, somehow. Again. "I'm talking to Cooper."

Cooper the dog trotted over and immediately started eating the spinach off Jordan's tray.

"Well," Jordan said, watching the dog enthusiastically consume their lunch. "Guess I've been upstaged by a golden retriever. Again."

Maya was laughing so hard she had to put her head down. "This is your sign, Jordan. The universe has spoken. You're going to that party, and you're gonna have a better time than Cooper here."

Jordan looked at their hand again — the palm now mostly dry. Texted Alex back: yeah. i'll be there.

Sometimes growing up meant eating spinach that was definitely questionable. Sometimes it meant sweaty palms and parties you weren't sure you were ready for. And sometimes it meant letting a dog eat your lunch because the universe had a weird way of telling you to stop overthinking and just live.

"Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"Spinach is still gross, though."

"Agreed. Let's get tacos."