Spinach Teeth and the First Strike

The palm tree outside freshman homeroom swayed like it couldn't care less about my existential crisis. Three weeks into Palm Valley High, and I was still the new kid who accidentally wore a fedora to school spirit day.

"Sup, Fedora," Marcus called from his locker. That was my name now. Not Mia. Fedora.

I yanked my hat off, feeling my face burn. At least I'd learned not to wear it anymore.

Lunch was a battlefield. I sat alone, spearing spinach leaves from my salad like each leaf was a personal victory. Mom's whole "eat your vegetables" campaign backfired when I looked in the compact mirror and saw bright green teeth. Awesome.

That's when I saw him—the guy from my English class, Reyes, sitting with the baseball team. Not that I was staring. I was just... observing from a distance. From the lonely spinach-and-green-teeth section.

His dog, a chaotic golden retriever named Buster, was somehow loose on campus, bounding toward my table with zero regard for social hierarchies.

"Buster! No!" Reyes bolted after him, the whole baseball team watching.

The dog skidded to a halt at my table, tail wagging like he'd just found his new best friend. And then, in a moment that would haunt me forever, he licked my tray clean.

"Oh my god," I whispered. "Did that dog just—"

Reyes reached me, breathless. "I am so sorry."

"It's fine," I said, despite green spinach smeared on my tray where the dog's tongue had been. "Your dog has... expensive taste."

He laughed. Actually laughed. Not the polite laugh, but the real one.

"You're Fedora Girl," he said. "I mean, Mia. You sit behind me in English."

"Formerly Fedora Girl," I corrected. "I retired the hat after the incident."

"The incident?" His eyes lit up. "You gotta tell me."

So I did. And the next day, when Marcus called "Sup, Fedora" across the hallway, Reyes just yelled back, "Her name is Mia, and she's got the best story about why she's not wearing that hat anymore."

Sometimes belonging starts with spinach in your teeth and a dog who makes terrible choices. Sometimes it starts when someone finally sees you instead of the weird stuff you did that one time.

I still sat with Reyes and his friends at lunch. And sometimes, when Marcus walked by, I'd wear my hat. Just a little tilted. Like I owned it.