The Spinach Incident

Leo's curls were doing that thing again — frizzing out like he'd stuck a fork in an electrical outlet. He smoothed his hair for the tenth time, checking his reflection in the cafeteria window. First week at Oakwood Academy, and he already stuck out like a sore thumb. Everyone here wore their privilege like a uniform — Vineyard Vines, carefully styled blowouts, conversations about summer houses in the Hamptons.

"Yo Leo, come sit with us."

Jackson. The guy had cornered the market on confidence, leaning back in his chair like he owned the place. "We're talking padel later. You play?"

Padel. The trendy racquet sport that was apparently life or death at Oakwood. Leo shook his head. "Nah, I'm more of a baseball guy."

Jackson laughed, but his eyes didn't quite crinkle. "Baseball? That's cute. Real sport, though — padel. You should come by the courts after school. I'll go easy on you."

The lie hung between them like thick smoke. Jackson was full of it — Leo had seen him missing basic shots in gym class yesterday. But calling him out would mean social suicide before he'd even made any friends.

At lunch, Leo's mom had packed him a salad because apparently she'd decided this was his health era. He took a massive bite, and something felt wrong. His tongue swept over his front teeth — spinach. Like, a whole leaf plastered across his front teeth, waving hello to anyone who looked too close.

His face burned. He'd been smiling at Chloe from English class not five minutes ago. She'd definitely seen it. She'd definitely told everyone.

He texted his best friend from his old school: *this is what nightmares are made of*

But then something weird happened. Chloe walked by his table and actually smiled. "Hey, you got a little —" she gestured to her own teeth, "—but honestly? It's kind of endearing. Most guys here act like they're carved from marble. It's nice to meet someone who's actually real."

Later, at the padel courts, Jackson served with this exaggerated showmanship — and missed completely. The ball hit the fence with a pathetic thud.

"Dude," Leo said, "you ever actually played this before?"

Jackson's face turned the color of cafeteria tomato soup. "I mean, I'm rusty —"

"Rusty? You said you played club last week."

Someone behind them snorted. Chloe stood there, padel racquet in hand. "He's always talking bull. Don't take it personally, Baseball Boy."

"It's Leo."

"Chloe." She grinned. "Want to play for real? I promise not to go easy on you."

His curls were still frizzy. His shirt was still from Target. But as Leo stepped onto the court, he finally felt like he might actually belong here — spinach incident and all.