The Orange Bottle

The vitamin bottle sat on my bathroom counter like a judgmental orange statue. 'Take one daily with food,' the label said. Yeah, right. Like I had time for that between AP Chem, soccer practice, and maintaining my carefully curated social media presence.

I kicked the door shut and slumped against it. Another day, another awkward interaction with Jordan in the hallway. We used to be best friends—like, finish-each-other's-sentences friends. Now? Now I got a tight-lipped smile and a 'hey, gotta run to bio.'

My cat, Mochi, wound around my ankles, purring like a tiny motor. At least someone still liked me.

'You're the only one who gets me, Mochs,' I said, scooping him up. His fur smelled like sunshine and whatever questionable things he'd rolled in outside.

My phone buzzed. Jordan had posted a story—without me. Again. They were at this indie coffee shop downtown, looking aesthetic with their new friend group. The friend group that didn't include me.

I tossed the vitamin bottle into my backpack. Whatever. I didn't need supplements. I was fine.

But then Mochi jumped onto my desk and knocked over the bottle, pills spilling everywhere like orange confetti. And I started laughing because it was so ridiculous. My life was a mess, my friend had basically ghosted me, and now even my cat was sabotaging my health routine.

Jordan texted me then: 'coffee tomorrow?'

I stared at my phone. Mochi headbutted my hand, demanding attention. The vitamins lay scattered across my desk like tiny orange suns.

'Sure,' I typed back. 'Bring Mochi?'

'You're so weird,' Jordan replied. 'Love that.'

Some friends fade. Others just need their own kind of daily supplement—like presence, and forgiveness, and showing up even when it's awkward. I swept the vitamins back into their bottle. Tomorrow, I'd actually take one. Tomorrow, I'd meet Jordan for coffee. Tomorrow, things might start getting better.