The Spinach Incident

Jordan's vintage beret was supposed to be their personality piece — a statement that said, 'I'm artsy, I'm mysterious, I'm not like everyone else at Northwood High.' Instead, it said, 'I'm about to ruin my life in the cafeteria.'

The spinach salad had seemed like a grown-up lunch choice. Jordan was trying this new thing where they made deliberate decisions instead of floating through freshman year like a ghost in a hoodie. But the spinach had other plans. Specifically, a particularly stubborn piece had lodged itself squarely between Jordan's front teeth, creating a green monument to social suicide.

Meanwhile, the Northwood social pyramid loomed. At the base: everyone trying desperately not to be noticed. At the apex: the table by the windows where the seniors sat like minor deities, occasionally descending to bless lesser mortals with nods or, on rare occasions, actual conversation.

And Jordan's crush, Riley, sat right in the middle.

'There's something in your teeth,' Jordan's best friend Casey whispered, eyes wide with the gravity of the situation. 'Since third period, dude. You've been smiling at people all day.'

Jordan froze. Third period was when they'd presented their English project. The one with the dramatic reading. The one where they'd smiled enthusiastically at the class for emotional effect.

'Why didn't you tell me?' Jordan hissed.

'I tried! You were in your artistic zone! You were wearing that hat!'

The beret felt heavier now. Less 'French philosopher,' more 'please end me now.'

Riley was walking over. This was it. The moment every coming-of-age movie had warned them about.

'Hey,' Riley said. 'Nice presentation today.'

Jordan considered faking a seizure. Instead, they just sat there, a statue of humiliation with a green garnish.

'You have—' Riley gestured at their own teeth, and yeah, there it was. The kindness. The absolute worst kind of kindness.

Casey, bless them, slammed their tray down. 'Jordan was saving it! For later! It's protein!'

Riley laughed. Not mean laughter. Actual, genuine laughter. 'I do that too. Last week, I walked around with chocolate on my face all afternoon. My so-called friends let me do it.'

The social pyramid suddenly seemed smaller. Less pyramid-shaped, more like a circle where everyone was simultaneously embarrassed and alive.

'That hat is actually fire though,' Riley added.

Jordan smiled carefully, spinach-free this time. 'Thanks.'

Casey passed them a napkin. 'You're welcome for saving your social life. Again.'