The Last Day of Freshman Year

Maya slumped against the bleachers, watching the sophomore boys play pickup basketball. Between her trembling fingers, a limp spinach leaf from her cafeteria salad dangled precariously over her white jeans. This was it—her chance to finally talk to Alex, who'd been her zombie-like obsession since September, leaving her brain functioning on zero REM sleep and maximum anxiety.

"You gonna eat that, or is it part of your aesthetic?"

Maya jumped. Riley materialized beside her, neon orange hair somehow defying physics. Riley was the kind of fox who'd transition seamlessly from AP Calc to basement punk shows, wearing combat boots with everything. She'd mastered the high school sphinx act—mysterious, unreadable, somehow simultaneously in every social orbit and none of them.

"It's fallen apart," Maya admitted, finally dropping the spinach. "Like my entire conversation strategy."

Riley snorted. "First rule: don't strategize. Second rule: stop treating him like some mythical creature. He's just a guy who thinks 'maybe' counts as a complete sentence."

From the court, Alex's laugh carried over. Another girl—Brynn, varsity soccer captain, actually confident, basically Maya's opposite—draped her arm around his shoulder. Something in Maya's chest compressed.

"See?" Riley's voice softened. "He's not paying attention to you because he's not your person. Being someone's zombie obsession? That's not the flex you think it is."

Maya's phone buzzed in her pocket. Probably her mom asking about dinner. Probably another reminder that she'd barely survived freshman year with a 2.7 GPA and zero romantic prospects. The cable knotted in her stomach tightened.

"Then who's my person?" Maya whispered.

Riley studied her, really looked at her, for the first time all year. "Someone who notices you're reading dystopian novels in math class. Someone who'd rather skip the party to rewatch \"Our Flag Means Death\" for the fourth time. Someone who gets why spinach is the worst salad green." She paused. "Someone like me, maybe?"

The basketball game faded. For the first time since August, Maya's lungs expanded fully. "You?"

"I've been waiting for you to notice me since September," Riley said, casual as could be. "But you were too busy being Alex's zombie."

Maya laughed—really laughed, the kind that started in her belly and didn't care who heard. The spinach on her jeans could wait. The cable tension released. Freshman year might've been a disaster, but sophomore year? That was going to be something else entirely.