The Girl in the Fedora

Maya's fedora was basically her emotional support hat at this point. Fourth period lunch, and she'd already overheard three conversations she definitely wasn't supposed to. Not that she was trying to be a creep or anything, but people just said stuff around her like she was invisible. Which, honestly? Sometimes felt accurate.

The cafeteria noise hit different today. Maya sat in her usual spot near the window, watching the stray calico cat that lived behind the school dumpster. She'd named her Cinnamon, because that's what color her fur was, and also because Maya had zero creativity.

"Yo, can she see us from there?" Leo's voice cut through her thoughts. He was sitting with his friends two tables away. "She's literally spy-ing on our whole conversation right now."

Maya's face burned. She wasn't spying. She was just... existing in proximity to information.

The joke spiraled from there. By fifth period, someone had created a group chat: "Maya's Top Secret Intel." People kept sliding into her DMs like she was some kind of information broker. What's Jason's GPA? Who's crushing on who? Does Mr. Harrison actually shower?

She could've laughed it off. Could've owned it. Instead she went to her spot behind the gym, where Cinnamon waited, meowing like she'd been starved for three days instead of three hours.

"They think I'm some weird wannabe spy," Maya muttered, opening a can of tuna she'd swiped from her kitchen. "Like I don't have better things to do than care about Jason's GPA."

Cinnamon purred like a motorboat, head-butting Maya's hand. And that's when it hit her—Cinnamon didn't care about the cafeteria gossip. Cinnamon just wanted to be fed, respected, and left alone to vibe in the sun.

Cat goals, honestly.

The fedora felt heavier somehow. Like armor she'd outgrown.

Maya walked back into school without it. Let them stare. Let them whisper. She wasn't spying, wasn't hiding, wasn't performing some mysterious loner act anymore.

She was just Maya. And honestly? That was enough.