The Art of Being Casual

Maya's been lowkey stalking Jordan's Instagram for three weeks now. She knows his coffee order (oat milk latta, extra foam), that he has an orange tabby cat named Nacho who sits on his keyboard during homework, and that his last post was a sunset captioned "vibes only." She's basically a professional spy at this point, except her intel is useless because she still freezes up whenever he says hi in the hallway.

Today's different. Today, Jordan actually invited Maya over to study for AP Bio, which is huge except also terrifying because now she has to be a normal human being in his house. She spent forty-five minutes picking an outfit—cute but trying too hard? Trying too hard but in a chill way?

The disaster starts at lunch. Maya's eating spinach and feta from the cafeteria, trying to look healthy and sophisticated, when Sophie dramatically whispers that she has spinach in her teeth. She spends ten minutes in the bathroom trying to dislodge bright green bits from her braces with her tongue, missing half lunch and arriving late to bio, where Jordan's already saved her a seat.

"Everything okay?" he asks, genuinely concerned. Maya wants to die.

After school, she walks to Jordan's house, her stomach doing full gymnastics. His house is actually normal—messy entryway, shoes everywhere—until Nacho the cat decides she's his new enemy and hisses at her from the top of the bookshelf. Jordan laughs. "He's just dramatic. Like, weirdly personal about it."

They're supposed to be studying cellular respiration but they're mostly on their phones, which is fine because Maya's phone buzzes with a text from her dad: cable's out again, streaming services down, the whole house is basically offline.

"Wanna watch a movie instead?" Jordan suggests. "I mean, we can say we studied. We both know we're not actually learning anything."

Maya's heart does this embarrassing flutter thing. They end up on his couch sharing earbuds, Nacho eventually deigning to sit on Maya's legs (she counts this as a victory), watching some dumb comedy on his laptop because her house still has no cable and honestly, this is better anyway.

Jordan's knee keeps bumping hers. Every time it happens, Maya forgets how to breathe.

"Your cat hates me," she says during a quiet moment.

"Nacho hates everyone," Jordan says. "He warmed up to you way faster than he did with my friends." He says it casual, but his ears go pink.

Maya's phone buzzes again—dad asking if she needs a ride home. She doesn't text back. Not yet.

"You hungry?" Jordan asks. "I can make grilled cheeses. My specialty."

"Spinach and feta?" she suggests before she can stop herself.

He laughs. "Sure. If you're trying to impress me with your sophisticated palate, it's working."

Maya's pretty sure her face is the color of a tomato. Jordan's pretty sure he just said something smooth for the first time in his life. Nacho makes a noise like he's judging them both.

They burn the first sandwich because they're too busy looking at each other instead of the stove. The second one's perfect.