Spinach Teeth & Sunsets

Maya's hands were literally shaking as she leaned against the park bench. First date territory. With Leo. The Leo who sat two rows behind her in AP Bio and always doodled foxes in the margins of his notes.

"You have something in your—" Leo started, gesturing to his own smile.

Maya's stomach dropped. She bolted upright, fishing her phone camera like a lifeline. Spinach. Bright green, definitely-from-lunch spinach wedged between her front teeth. Forty minutes into her first date with the cutest guy at Northwood High, and she'd been smiling with spinach in her teeth.

"I am so mortified," she groaned, covering her face with both hands. "This is actually the worst thing that's ever happened to anyone."

Leo laughed—like, actually laughed, not that polite chuckle thing. "Dude, it's fine. I had a piece of orange peel stuck in my braces for like three hours at Jackson's party last month. Didn't realize until I got home and looked in a mirror."

Maya peeked through her fingers. He was smiling. Not weirded out. Just... smiling.

"You're just saying that."

"Swear. It was gross." He shrugged, then: "So, about that fox thing—"

Maya blinked. "What fox thing?"

"Your phone case." He nodded toward the fox-patterned case she'd thrifted last summer. "I draw foxes. That's why I noticed you in bio. You have excellent taste in woodland creatures."

A fox screamed somewhere in the woods behind them—this unearthly, almost human sound that made both of them jump. Maya practically climbed onto the bench seat, and Leo yelped, grabbing her arm instinctively.

"Was that—" Maya started.

"A legit fox," Leo finished, breathless with laughter. "That was literally the most dramatic entrance ever."

Then it happened—lightning struck somewhere beyond the tree line, a jagged crack of purple-white that illuminated everything. For a split second, Maya saw Leo's face, really saw it—the way his eyes crinkled when he laughed, the tiny freckle on his nose, the genuine delight in finding something weird together.

The sky opened up. They ran for the pavilion, soaked through and breathless, orange sunset mixing with storm clouds in this impossible gradient overhead. Her hair was wrecked, her makeup was probably running, and she'd had spinach in her teeth for most of her date.

Leo's hand found hers under the shelter of the pavilion roof. Rain drummed against the metal above them, loud enough to drown out everything else.

"Worst first date ever?" he asked, squeezing her fingers.

Maya looked at him—really looked—and felt something strike in her chest like that lightning had. Maybe imperfection was the whole point.

"Actually," she said, "might be the best."