The Bear in the Back of My Closet

I stared at my reflection, phone camera pointing at my face. Another rejection notification lit up the screen. Not like it mattered. I'd already spent three weeks choking down those neon-green **vitamin** supplements Maya swore would fix my skin, and guess what? Still looking like a pizza face extraordinare.

"Honey, dinner!" Mom's voice cut through my overthinking.

I dragged myself to the kitchen, already knowing what was waiting. The salad bowl overflowed with **spinach** — again. Mom's new health kick meant I'd been eating rabbit food since summer started, while all my friends were posting about boba runs and In-N-Out secrets.

"You're growing," she said, like that explained everything. "You need nutrients."

"Can I just have pizza like a normal person?"

"Normal people don't get into Stanford eating processed garbage."

There it was. The S-word. The ghost that haunted every family dinner since my cousin Jessica got early admission.

Later that night, I flopped onto my bed, feeling pathetic. My eyes landed on Mr. Cuddles, the stuffed **bear** Dad won me at a carnival when I was six. His fur was matted, one eye loose, but he still wore that tiny graduation cap I'd taped to his head during my "I'm gonna be a doctor" phase.

I grabbed him and something unexpected happened — I started laughing. Like, actually cracking up.

Because here I was, sixteen years old, clutching a beat-up stuffed bear while my life felt like one giant Pinterest fail. And somehow that was okay.

I posted a selfie with Mr. Cuddles. Caption: "Me and my emotional support animal. We're both works in progress."

My phone blew up.

Maya: "Omg yes"

Tyler: "That bear has more swag than I'll ever have"

Even Jessica liked it.

Mom peeked in. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," I said, hugging Mr. Cuddles tighter. "Just figured something out."

"About your college applications?"

"About me."

She smiled, actually smiled. "Spinach still tastes terrible though, right?"

"Literally the worst."

"Want to order pizza?"

"Mom, are you serious?"

"Dead serious. But don't tell your father."

Some days are messy. Some days, you eat spinach and carry your stuffed bear like it's the most normal thing in the world. And some days, you realize that's exactly who you're supposed to be.