The Green Between Your Teeth

The kitchen hummed with bass so heavy I could feel it in my molars. I gripped my red Solo cup like a lifeline, nursing the same flat soda for forty-five minutes. sophomore year, and I was still That Kid who stood by the snack table, pretending to be fascinated by a bowl of tortilla chips.

Then Maya appeared, sliding through the crowd like she owned the place. She was wearing this ridiculous oversized bucket hat that should've looked dumb but somehow made her look effortlessly cool. That was Maya—everything was a bit, everything was performance art, everything was genuine at the same time.

"You're bear-ing up surprisingly well for someone who's been in the same three-foot radius since arrival," she said, popping a chip into her mouth. "But you've got that 'I want to dissolve into the floorboards' energy radiating off you."

I shrugged. "It's fine. I'm fine. Parties aren't really my—"

"Your thing. Yeah, I know." She leaned closer. "You know why people wear hats like this?"

I gestured at her hat. "Fashion statement?"

"Nope. It's armor." She flipped up the brim. "If I can't see everyone looking at me, I can pretend they're not. Works like a charm."

Something pinged in my chest. Maya—confident, popular, unshakeable Maya—got anxious too?

"You want it?" she asked, sliding the hat onto my head.

The world went shadowy at the edges. Instantly, my shoulders dropped two inches. The oppressive weight of twelve dozen imaginary eyes vanished.

"See?" She grinned. Then she froze. "Oh, wait."

"What?"

"Spinach," she whispered. "From the dip. You've had spinach in your teeth for literally an hour."

I stood there, paralyzed. How many people had I smiled at? How many conversations had I nodded through? How long had I been walking around with my teeth screaming "I'M UNCOOL" in fluorescent green?

Maya handed me a napkin. "Here's the thing about friends—we tell you when you've got spinach in your teeth. And we don't let it be the worst thing that ever happened to us."

I scrubbed at my teeth while she watched, totally unbothered.

"Better?" I mumbled through the napkin.

"Way better." She steered me toward the living room where people were dancing. "Now come on. I'm about to embarrass myself attempting to TikTok dance, and I need a witness who won't post it."

The bass swallowed us whole. Under my borrowed hat, in the washed-out light, I danced badly and laughed until my ribs ached. The spinach was gone, the anxiety was bearable, and for the first time all night, I didn't want to dissolve into the floorboards.