The Orange Crush

Maya's sneakers squeaked against the rubber track, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She wasn't fast—like, actually slow—and tryouts for the cross-country team were tomorrow. Typical that her crush Leo would be the team captain.

"You've got this, Maya!" he'd said yesterday, flashing that smile that made her stomach do literal backflips. "Just keep running."

Running. If only. She'd spent the entire summer alternating between binge-watching Netflix and stress-eating snacks. Now here she was, dying on the track while Leo's perfect athletic self watched from the sidelines like some Greek god.

Her phone buzzed. Her mom, asking if she wanted fresh-squeezed orange juice for dinner. Orange juice—the one good thing about her weird health-kick mom. Maya loved oranges. Their bright color, the way they burst in your mouth when you peeled them, how they made everything feel okay even when life was absolutely not okay.

"Maya!" Leo called, jogging over. "You're pushing too hard. You gotta pace yourself."

She wanted to disappear. Instead she nodded, sweat dripping down her face, probably looking like a complete mess.

"My grandpa was a bull rider," Leo said suddenly, sitting on the grass beside her. "He told me once that the secret to staying on a bull isn't strength. It's knowing when to hold on tight and when to let go."

A bull rider. Of course. Everything about Leo was cool and surprising and unfair.

"I'm not gonna make the team," Maya whispered, finally admitting it out loud.

Leo shrugged. "So what? Keep running anyway. Sometimes the point isn't being the fastest. Sometimes it's just proving to yourself that you can."

He pulled an orange from his backpack—literally, what are the odds?—and tossed it to her.

"For energy. My grandpa swore by them before rides. Said bulls respect people who appreciate good citrus."

Maya laughed so hard she almost choked. "That is definitely not true."

"Nope," Leo grinned. "But oranges do taste amazing after you've been running in circles wondering if you're good enough."

She peeled it right there, juice running down her fingers, the bright orange color matching the sunset painting the sky. And for the first time, Maya didn't care if Leo was watching or if she made the team or if she was ever actually fast. She was just a girl with orange-stained fingers and a racing heart, running toward something real.

Maybe that was enough.