Swipe Left on Reality

Maya's pocket buzzed for the third time in five minutes. Her iPhone was practically screaming at her, notifications piling up like unread homework assignments. But she couldn't check it. Not now.

Across the dinner table, her mom was practically force-feeding her dad's experimental spinach lasagna. "It's packed with iron, sweetie! Just try it."

Maya hated spinach. She hated how it looked like something that had already been chewed. She hated that her parents were suddenly that family who did meatless Mondays and talked about their feelings at dinner. Most of all, she hated that she'd rather be anywhere else.

"So, Maya," her dad said, wiping sauce from his chin. "How's Jordan? Haven't seen him around lately."

Maya's stomach did that thing it did whenever Jordan came up — half excitement, half dread. Jordan, who'd been her best friend since sixth grade. Jordan, who'd started sitting at the popular table two weeks ago. Jordan, who'd left her on read three times this week.

"He's good," Maya said, stabbing at her lasagna. "Busy."

Her pocket buzzed again. This time she couldn't resist.

Under the table, her screen lit up. Jordan had posted a story. There he was, at some party she wasn't invited to, laughing with people whose names she didn't even know. The caption read: "squad > 💯"

The spinach lasagna suddenly tasted like betrayal.

"You okay, honey?" Her mom's voice broke through.

"Yeah. Just — full." Maya pushed her plate away. "Can I be excused?"

She escaped to her room, her phone burning in her hand. She opened Jordan's chat, fingers hovering over the keyboard. She wanted to ask why she wasn't invited. She wanted to say she missed him. She wanted to type something real.

Instead, she double-tapped his story. Sent a generic "lol sick 🙌" response.

Her phone buzzed instantly. Jordan's dog, Buster, had gotten into the trash again. Jordan was sending her a photo of the guilty golden retriever looking appropriately ashamed, surrounded by shredded garbage bags.

Maya smiled despite herself. This was their thing — trading stupid dog pics, inside jokes, the language they'd built over years of friendship before status and tables and squad goals mattered.

"remember when he ate ur history project lol" she typed.

"Omg YES I forgot 💀 I got a C and it was SO worth it"

They kept texting, easy and familiar, until Maya's eyes grew heavy. Jordan was still her friend. The rest was just noise.

Her phone buzzed one last time: "wanna come over tomorrow? Buster misses his favorite human (it's u btw)"

Maya grinned, setting her phone on her nightstand. The notifications could wait. Some things were better than pixels.