The Salad Incident

Maya's new year resolution lasted exactly three days. By Thursday of the first week back at Jackson High, she was regretting everything.

"You're actually eating that?" Jordan pointed at her lunch tray like she'd just revealed she keeps a collection of spiders in her locker.

"It's... healthy," Maya said, pushing the spinach around with her fork. The leaves looked sad. She felt sad. This was what happened when you decided to reinvent yourself over winter break because one TikTok said "new year, new you" and you took it way too literally.

Her iphone buzzed in her pocket. Probably the group chat blowing up about Friday's party—the one she hadn't been invited to yet. Not that she was counting. Or checking. Or literally refreshing every five minutes.

"So," Jordan said, sliding onto the bench across from her, "about Tyler's party..."

Maya's heart did that embarrassing fluttery thing. "What about it?"

"He's doing, like, a cooking competition thing. Everyone has to bring something." Jordan grinned. "You should enter. Make that healthy stuff."

Maya stared at her spinach. She wanted to say no. She wanted to say she'd rather eat dirt than publicly humiliate herself. But then she thought of Tyler laughing at something she said in homeroom, and the words that came out were: "Sure."

Friday night, Maya stood in Tyler's kitchen surrounded by people who looked like they belonged in a cooking show. She had a mixing bowl, a box of spinach, and zero clue what she was doing.

"Need help?"

She turned around and there he was. Tyler. In the flesh. Wearing that flannel that made his eyes look stupidly blue.

"I got this," Maya said, then promptly knocked a glass of water into her bowl.

Spinach everywhere. On the counter. On Tyler's shoes. Somehow in her hair.

The room went silent.

Then Tyler started laughing. Not mean laughing—like, actually laughing. "Okay, that was legendary."

Maya's face burned. She grabbed a handful of wet spinach. "This was supposed to be my masterpiece."

"Hey." Tyler's smile softened. "Failed cooking attempts are way more interesting than perfect ones. Besides, my best ideas started with disasters."

He helped her clean up, their hands brushing as they gathered soggy leaves. Her heart did that fluttery thing again, but this time she didn't hate it.

"Next time," he said, "we start smaller."

"There's a next time?"

"If you want there to be."

Maya's phone buzzed in her pocket—probably the group chat again. But she didn't check. Some things were more important than whatever was happening online. Even if she did have spinach in her hair.