Spinach Teeth & Palm Readers

The house party already had me vibrating with that specific kind of pre-social anxiety that hits right before you walk through someone's front door. My palms were sweating so bad I could practically water plants with them. Which, naturally, made me think about how much I didn't want to be here.

Maya's dad had gone full health-nut recently, which explained the spinach-artichoke dip that smelled like a abandoned gym sock. I took a tiny scoop because I didn't want to be rude, and that's when I saw him—Ryan, leaning against the kitchen counter like he belonged in a low-budget Netflix rom-com.

He caught my eye. My brain short-circuited. I opened my mouth to say something cool and instead just stood there smiling like a frozen mannequin.

"Hey," he said, pushing off the counter.

"Hey," I managed back, still smiling.

Then someone's rescue dog—a chunky golden retriever named Nacho—came barreling through the kitchen, tripping over nothing, and slammed into my legs. My dip went flying. Orange soda splashed everywhere. My white vans were basically ruined.

But the real disaster? Ryan started laughing, and I joined in, relieved, until I caught my reflection in the microwave door. A massive, obvious piece of spinach wedged between my front teeth like a green flag of social suicide.

I could literally feel my soul leave my body.

"You got a little—" Ryan started, gesturing toward his own teeth.

Instead of playing it off, I just groaned and turned bright red. "Yep. That's me. The human salad bar."

But then he did something unexpected. He held out his hand—palm up, like, whatever, let's see what happens. "I'm actually really good at getting spinach out of teeth. My little sister's a professional disaster."

He picked it out with his pinky like it was the most normal thing in the world.

"Crisis averted," he said. "So, you wanna help me wrangle Nacho before he destroys the rest of this party?"

I looked at my orange-stained shoes, back at him, and smiled—carefully this time. "Absolutely."

Sometimes the worst moments become the best stories. You just have to survive them first.