The Orange Incident
The sun dipped below the horizon as Maya gripped her iPhone so hard her palms started to sweat. This was it â her first real high school party, and she was already five minutes late to everything. The group chat had been blowing up all afternoon: "everyone's going to the beach," "wear cute," "BRING SNACKS."
She'd spent forty-five minutes on her outfit (vintage band tee. Check. Delicate layered necklaces. Check.) and another twenty convincing herself she wasn't going to throw up from nerves. Now here she was, standing at the edge of the beach parking lot with a sliced orange in one hand and her phone in the other, feeling like the most awkward person on the planet.
Mom had dropped her off two blocks away so she wouldn't be seen in the "mom mobile," which was honestly thoughtful but also meant Maya had to do the Walk of Confidence into the party alone. She could hear music thumping from the bonfire area and see the glow of phones recording TikToks. Some underclassmen were already posing dramatically for Instagram stories.
"Maya! You made it!"
Liam. The guy she'd been lowkey crushing on since algebra. He was jogging over, his smile bright even in the dim light. Maya's heart did that annoying flippy thing it always did when he was around.
"Hey!" she squeaked. Smooth. So smooth.
"Glad you came," he said, and then it happened â Maya's phone buzzed with an incoming call at the exact same moment she tried to shift the orange slices into her other hand. The phone slipped. It was like slow motion. The iPhone tumbled through the air, bounced off her wrist, and landed directly in the sand with a soft thud.
They both stared at it.
"That was... legendary," Liam said, finally breaking the silence.
"I hate everything," Maya groaned, reaching down to grab it. But her palms were so sweaty she could barely get a grip. When she finally retrieved it, the screen was covered in sand and, somehow, orange juice.
"Wait," Liam said, pulling out his own phone. "We have to document this level of awkwardness."
"No, we really don'tâ"
"Too late." He snapped a photo and showed it to her. There she was, bent over in the sand, orange sticky hands, hair everywhere, looking completely ridiculous. But she was laughing. Actually laughing.
"Send me that," she said, wiping sand off her screen. "I'm gonna make it my lock screen."