The Friday Night Shift

Maya's orange uniform was basically a crime against fashion, but Mr. Henderson said it matched the branding. She tugged at the collar while arranging the display of artisanal honey—because apparently that was a thing people bought now. The Friday night shift at Bee's Knees Market was supposed to be easy money, but her phone had been blowing up for three hours straight. Everyone was at Taylor's party. Everyone except her.

"You look like you're plotting murder," said Ryan, the new guy working the deli counter. He had that effortless skater vibe that made him look like he'd just rolled out of bed and somehow still looked good. Maya rolled her eyes.

"Just mentally calculating how much I hate this job."

"Cool. So, like, eight out of ten?"

Maya actually smiled. "Nine. Maybe nine and a half."

The front door jingled. Three girls from school walked in—Chloe, Harper, and some freshman whose name she kept forgetting. Maya ducked behind the greeting cards, feeling like a total spy in her own workplace. She watched them grab bags of chips and energy drinks, probably pre-gaming before heading back to Taylor's. They didn't even notice her, which was honestly fine. Better than the alternative.

"You're hiding," Ryan said, appearing behind her with a sandwich in hand. "Rude."

"I'm strategically positioned."

"You're a bear in hibernation."

Maya laughed despite herself. "Okay, that one's actually kind of accurate."

They ended up taking their break together behind the store, sitting on the milk crate Ryan called his "thinking chair." He told her about growing up with five brothers and how he learned to cook because it was the only way to avoid eating whatever burned concoction his dad attempted. She told him about how she'd accidentally dyed her hair green last summer and had to wear a hat for six weeks.

"So that's why you never take off your beanie," he said, pointing at her head.

"Touché."

A cat wandered out from the dumpster, orange tabby with a torn ear. It regarded them with maximum judgment before walking away.

"That's how I feel about everything," Maya said.

"Same."

When Mr. Henderson dropped her off at home, Maya's phone buzzed. A text from Ryan: Tonight wasn't terrible. She saved it, then deleted it, then saved it again. The party posts were still flooding her feed, but looking at them didn't sting as much anymore. Sometimes the best nights weren't the ones everyone talked about. Sometimes they were the ones that happened in an alley behind a market, sitting on a milk crate, eating a sandwich that definitely had too much mayo.

Sometimes they were just. Enough.