Strikeout in the Storm

Maya's mom had gone full wellness influencer overnight, meaning Maya's lunch now consisted of a smoothie that looked like radioactive swamp water.

"It's the **spinach**, honey," her mom had said that morning, blocking her escape to the bus stop. "And this **vitamin** D supplement. You know what they say about teenage bones."

Maya had grabbed the green sludge and fled, because being late to first period was social suicide. Now, sitting across from Alex at lunch while he talked about varsity **baseball** tryouts, she felt like a fraud. Alex with his easy grin and the way he adjusted his Snap-back like he practiced it in the mirror.

"You should come watch," Alex said, and Maya almost dropped her phone.

Her **iPhone** buzzed in her hand – ten notifications from the group chat. Everyone was discussing Tyler's party on Friday. The party Maya wasn't sure she was invited to, because last week's group project disaster had placed her firmly on the island of Maybe We Don't Talk To Her This Week.

Outside, the sky had gone that weird yellow-green color that meant trouble. The first crack of **lightning** made the entire cafeteria jump.

"Weather app says it's gonna be gnarly," Alex said, then his eyes lit up. "Hey, you need a ride home? My truck's actually running today."

Maya's brain short-circuited. Alex Davis, offering her a ride? This was the kind of moment that lived in group chat legends.

But then his phone chimed – a perfect little ping. He read it and the easy grin faltered.

"Actually, never mind. Kayla needs a ride. Her car's in the shop."

Maya watched them leave together through the rain-speckled windows. Watched Alex's hand hover near Kayla's shoulder but not quite touching. The way Kayla laughed at something he said, head tilted back just so.

The green smoothie sat untouched on her tray.

Maya picked up her phone. Fourteen new notifications. She scrolled past them and opened her notes app, started a new document:

THINGS THAT ARE ACTUALLY REAL:

- This smoothie tastes like wet grass

- Alex is not gonna suddenly notice me

- My worth ≠ being included in the group chat

She took a sip of the spinach disaster. Winced. Then typed:

- Maybe that's okay

- Maybe I'm done performing for people who don't see me

The second lightning strike hit closer, thunder shaking the windows. Everyone screamed. Maya found herself laughing, really laughing, while half the cafeteria pretended they weren't terrified.

Alex looked back from the doors, confused. Maya just raised her almost-empty smoothie in a toast.

Let him wonder.

She had better things to do than be the supporting character in someone else's coming-of-age movie. Starting with figuring out how to make this spinach situation actually edible, because she refused to let her mom's wellness phase win.

Small victories.