The Green Between My Teeth

Maya's hands trembled as she gripped her iPhone, the blue light illuminating the single most catastrophic notification of her sophomore year: three new tags in photos she couldn't unsee. The cafeteria spinach—she'd thought she was being healthy, trying to impress Jordan with her mature lunch choices—had colonized her front teeth through all of third period. And now, it was immortalized on Maya Chen's story, captioned "when healthy goes wrong."

She locked her phone. Unlocked it. The photos were still there.

"That's bull," she muttered, shoving her phone deep into her pocket. Her face burned so hot she could practically feel steam rising off her skin.

The bathroom mirror confirmed her worst fears. A tiny, determined wedge of spinach, clinging to her front tooth like it was paying rent. She scrubbed it away with her fingernail, letting cold water run over her face until she could breathe without wanting to dissolve into the floor tiles.

Her phone buzzed again. Not a notification this time—Jordan was calling.

She stared at his name, her heart doing this stupid fluttery thing that made her want to both scream and also maybe smile a little. Jordan. The Jordan who'd sat at her table yesterday. The Jordan who'd said, "you're actually kinda funny" when she'd made that joke about the school mascot.

"Hello?" Her voice came out weirdly high.

"Hey." His voice had that rasp she'd memorized during chemistry lab last month. "So, um, I saw the pics."

Maya squeezed her eyes shut. This was it. The end. She'd have to change her name. Move to a different state.

"Yeah," she whispered. "That happened."

"Yeah. I mean—honestly?" Jordan paused. "It was pretty hilarious. Like, you looked so proud of your salad, too."

Maya blinked. "What?"

"I'm saying it's cute," he said, and she could hear the awkward in his voice, the way his words stumbled a little. "You know. You're always trying so hard with the healthy stuff. It's—yeah. It's cute."

Outside the bathroom, a dog barked—someone walking their golden retriever past the school windows, its tail wagging like nothing in the world could possibly be wrong.

"Wait, you think it's cute?" Maya asked, her reflection in the mirror actually smiling now.

"I mean, not the spinach part. But—you know." Jordan cleared his throat. "Anyway, me and the guys are going to the lake tomorrow. You should come. Bring more salad if you want."

Maya leaned against the sink, her phone pressed to her ear, and for the first time all day, she didn't want to disappear. "I'll think about it," she said, and there was this power in it, this tiny flex of confidence she hadn't felt two hours ago.

"Cool," Jordan said. "Cool."

She hung up and stared at herself in the mirror. The spinach was gone, but the green between her teeth—that was nothing compared to the green in her eyes, practically glowing in the harsh bathroom light.

She pulled out her iPhone, opened Maya's story, and commented: "green tooth aesthetic only 💅"

Then she added Jordan's contact to her favorites list, feeling like maybe—just maybe—she was figuring out this whole being herself thing, one embarrassing moment at a time.