The Greenshift Protocol

Maya's mom had gone full wellness-cult. Again.

"It's not just spinach, honey. It's a nutrient-dense superfood blend," her mom chirped, sliding a green sludge across the counter. "And this vitamin complex is supposed to help with focus."

Maya stared at the smoothie like it was radioactive. "Mom, I'm seventeen. I can make my own breakfast choices."

"Humor me. Please? Just for the week."

Fine. Whatever. If drinking pond scum got her mom off her case about college applications and "finding her path," Maya would chug it.

By third period, Maya understood the zombie thing. Not the actual apocalypse kind everyone joked about—she meant that specific, shambling exhaustion where your limbs weighed double and your brain processed everything three seconds behind reality. Mr. Harrison's voice droned about symbolism in The Great Gatsby, and Maya's notebook filled with increasingly creative doodles of vegetables committing crimes.

"You good?" whispered Sarah, her lab partner since seventh grade. "You look like death warmed over."

"My mom's got me on some new health kick."

Sarah snorted. "Classic. At least it's not another juice cleanse. Remember when she made you do that beet thing? You looked like you'd witnessed a murder for a week."

Maya cracked a smile. Her phone buzzed under her desk. *Jake: u busy later?*

Her stomach did that stupid flutter thing. Jake Chen, who'd sat behind her in honors English since forever, who made sarcastic comments under his breath that only she heard, who'd started wearing leather jackets and letting his hair grow out like some indie film protagonist.

The problem: Jake was Sarah's ex. Sorta. They'd "dated" for like three weeks freshman year before Sarah decided she was more into Aaron. But the friend group code was murky territory.

*Maya: might be free why?*

*Jake: found this abandoned spot off old mill road. thought you'd wanna see. promise it's not murder vibes*

Maya typed back *sounds sus but I'm in* and immediately questioned every life choice.

By lunch, the spinach situation had caught up to her digestive system. Maya bolted to the bathroom, barely making it before—well, before things got embarrassing.

Sarah leaned against the door when Maya finally emerged. "Okay, seriously, what did your mom feed you?"

"I'm bearing the consequences of her love." Maya massaged her stomach. "Literally."

"Bearing. Good word choice." Sarah paused. "So... Jake texted me earlier. Asked if you'd mentioned him."

Maya's heart dropped. "What? Why?"

"I don't know! That's the weird part. He never asks about anyone unless he's planning something." Sarah's expression shifted from confusion to something sharper. "Unless..."

"Unless what?"

"Unless you're the plan."

Maya's face heated. "There's no plan. We're just friends. Kinda. I don't know."

Sarah studied her. Then smiled. Not the fake kind. "You should go."

"Wait, really? But the code—"

"The code says don't make moves. But it also says don't stand in the way of something legit." Sarah bumped her shoulder. "Besides, you've had a crush on him since that group project in eighth grade. I saw the way you looked at his bear hoodie."

"You remember that?"

"I remember everything. Go get your zombie self some fresh air."

The spot off Old Mill Road turned out to be an overgrown foundation from something that'd burned down years ago. Trees grew through broken concrete. Wildflowers everywhere. Jake was already there, sitting on a fallen log, sketching in a notebook.

"Hey," he said, like she hadn't spent half the day overthinking this entire interaction.

"Hey."

He patted the log beside him. "Brought you something."

It was a smoothie. But not green—purple, with little chunks of fruit.

"What?"

"Sarah told me about your mom's spinach situation." His ears went slightly pink. "My mom's kinda intense too. Different wavelength, but... I get it."

Maya took the smoothie. It was cold. Perfect temperature. "You made this?"

"Family recipe. No vegetables allowed."

She sipped it. It tasted like berries and forgiveness.

"Thanks."

"No problem." He flipped a page in his sketchbook. "So, I was thinking—about the art show next month—"

Maya smiled. The zombie feeling was gone. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I was wondering if you'd want to... maybe help me set it up?"

"Like, after school?"

"Like, whenever. We could grab food after. There's this place downtown—"

"I'd like that."

Jake smiled back, and for the first time all day, Maya felt properly awake. The spinach could wait. She had bigger things to bear now—like the possibility that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn't have to face the weirdness of growing up alone anymore.