The Cat Thief's Delivery

I was running late. Again. My hair was still damp from my rushed shower, frizzing in the humidity as I sprinted toward the school building. Senior year was supposed to be different—me, together, prepared. Instead, I was still the same chaotic mess who couldn't remember to bring her gym clothes, let alone figure out who she was supposed to be.

"Maya! Wait up!"

I groaned internally. Jason. The cute track star who'd been flirting with me since homecoming, when I'd somehow convinced everyone I was cool and collected. If only he knew the truth: I was just a girl who'd spent three hours straightening her curly hair every morning because I was terrified someone would notice I didn't fit in.

"Hey," I panted, skidding to a stop. "What's up?"

"Your cat," he said, grinning. "Again."

My heart sank. Mittens, my grandma's ancient orange tabby, had developed this weird habit of showing up at the school courtyard during lunch. Everyone thought it was hilarious—the "psychic cat" who somehow knew where to find me.

"She's behind the bleachers," Jason said. "Thought you'd want to know before security finds her."

"Thanks. You're... you're really sweet about it."

He shrugged. "She's cool. Unlike my cat, who hates everyone."

"Yeah," I managed. "Cool."

Running behind the bleachers, I found Mittens curled up on someone's discarded sweatshirt, purring like a motorboat. But something was wrong—she was covered in something sticky, and her usually pristine orange fur was matted.

"Oh no, Mittens..."

I scooped her up, not caring about my favorite hoodie. She'd obviously gotten into something. Running home with her, I missed third period, fourth, and lunch. But honestly? I didn't care.

Because here's the thing: I'd been running from myself for years—straightening my curls, hiding my love for old lady cats like Mittens, pretending I was someone I wasn't. But holding this sticky, weird, perfect creature who couldn't care less what anyone thought of her, something shifted.

"You know what?" I whispered to her. "Screw it."

The next day, I walked into school with my hair in its natural curls, wild and unapologetic. And when Jason smiled at me? I smiled back—for real this time.

"Your hair," he said. "It's... really pretty like that."

"Thanks," I said. And meant it.