The Mascot Manifesto

Maya's life was basically a conspiracy theory at this point. First, the entire freshman class knew she was secretly crushing on Rivera — which, rude, since she'd only told like two people. Second, she'd somehow gotten roped into being the goddamn school mascot. The Bull.

"You're basically running for prom queen at this point," deadpanned Jules, watching Maya struggle into the fuzzy polyester costume that smelled like every dude's locker room combined. "Just with more sweating."

Maya flipped her off through the mesh eye holes. The school's mascot was supposed to be "intimidating yet lovable," which was rich coming from the same administration that gave detention for "excessive PDA." Whatever. She had bigger problems.

Like the fact that she'd accidentally become a social media spy. Someone had created an anonymous Instagram account, @BullShitConfessions, posting secrets about students. And somehow, everyone thought it was Maya.

"It's not me," she whispered to Rivera after third period, heart pounding so hard she was pretty sure the mascot's polyester snout was vibrating. "I swear."

Rivera studied her face, then her palm — which was, honestly, kind of weird until Maya realized she was looking at the Sharpie drawing someone had drawn there during math: a tiny bear, artistically rendered. Freshman year arts and crafts gone wrong.

"I know," Rivera said, and the relief hit Maya like a physical thing. "But whoever it is, they know about... us."

Maya's breath caught. Us. There was an us now.

That afternoon, Jules texted her: @BullShitConfessions just posted something HUGE. Check your phone.

Maya didn't make it to her locker before the hallway erupted. People were staring, whispering, pointing. She pulled out her phone, hands shaking, and there it was: the account's final post.

It wasn't a confession. It was a screenshot of Maya's notes app from last week — a draft she'd never sent. A list of reasons she was scared to tell Rivera how she felt. And captioned: sometimes the scariest thing isn't being rejected. It's being seen.

And then the account deleted itself.

Maya stood there in her Bull costume, sweating through the polyester, as realization hit. Someone had been spying on her, yeah. But not to expose her. To force her hand.

"Hey." Rivera appeared beside her, not even glancing at the phone. "You want to get food later? Just us."

Maya's palm was sweating again, but she smiled so wide her snout almost fell off. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Sometimes the universe didn't give you answers. It just gave you a gentle shove and a really smelly costume.