The Cafeteria Incident

Maya's stomach did nervous backflips as she stood in the lunch line, clutching her tray like a lifeline. She'd spent forty-five minutes crafting the perfect aesthetic bowl – fresh **spinach** leaves arranged just so, sliced **orange** sections fanning out like a citrus sunflower, a squeeze of lime, and exactly seven cherry tomatoes. It was wellness influencer perfection, the kind of lunch that said: I have my life together.

Behind her, Jake cleared his throat. "Nice... salad?"

She turned. Jake Chen, varsity basketball star, accidentally cute in that way that made her brain short-circuit. He was holding a tray with a disturbingly symmetrical stack of nachos forming a literal **pyramid** of cheese-drenched chaos.

"It's a nutrient bowl," Maya said, then immediately wanted to die. Who says nutrient bowl?

"Cool." He gestured to his masterpiece. "I call this the cholesterol pyramid. My trainer's gonna kill me."

They sat together. Not because Maya planned it (she absolutely did not), but because the cafeteria was packed and fate apparently had a twisted sense of humor.

"So," Jake said, eyeing her spinach creation, "you, like, super into health stuff?"

Maya's brain supplied approximately seven different responses, none of which made it out of her mouth. Instead, she blurted: "I'm trying a new thing. wellness, you know?"

"Nice."

He took a bite of his nacho pyramid. A glob of cheese dripped onto his shirt.

"I actually take this **vitamin** supplement," Maya continued, her mouth moving without permission, "because my mom said I need more iron, but it makes me feel kinda sick sometimes, and—"

Why. Why was she telling him this.

Jake stared at her for one eternal second.

Then he laughed. Not mean laughing. Real laughing. "Dude, same. I take those gummy ones and they taste like chalk.

"Wait." She blinked. "You take—"

"Iron gummies, bro. Coach says my levels are trash. I feel you." He wiped cheese from his chin. "Your spinach looks way better than mine though."

Maya looked at her carefully arranged bowl. Then at Jake's nacho disaster. Then back at him, grinning like an idiot.

"Trade you a bite?"

"Deal."

She handed him a forkful of spinach and orange. He passed her a nacho.

They ate in comfortable silence, and for the first time all year, Maya's stomach settled. Sometimes perfection was overrated anyway.