The Spinach Incident

Maya's first week at Northwood High was going exactly zero percent well until lunch on Thursday, when she realized the spinach from her salad had been camping in her front teeth for approximately three hours.

She was just about to stealthily check her reflection in her phone when Jake—the cute junior with the whatever-this-is aura—sat down across from her. Because the universe had a personal vendetta against her social existence.

"Hey," Jake said. "You're in my AP Euro, right?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. She managed something that might have been English but sounded more like a distressed penguin. Behind Jake, his friend Marcus was practically vibrating with suppressed laughter, clearly spotting the spinach situation.

The thing was, Maya had been doing so good. After moving from Chicago, she'd crafted the perfect lowkey persona: chill, mysterious, definitely not the girl who'd once cried because her cat watched her through a window during a Zoom call while she was practicing for her TikTok debut.

But here she was, living her worst nightmare in the cafeteria, which was basically a social minefield even on good days.

"Your cable's out, right?" Jake asked, clearly trying to make conversation. "Whole neighborhood's down since last night."

"Yeah," Maya said, then panicked. Was that too dry? Too random? "I've been existing on cellular data like it's the Stone Age. It's actually tragic."

"Same," Jake said, and Maya's stomach did that annoying flip thing. "I was gonna text you but I was like, what if she thinks I'm weird for texting about internet issues?"

He was gonna text her. Her. Maya, with spinach in her teeth and zero game.

"You could never be as weird as me," Maya said, then immediately wanted to die. What did that even mean?

Marcus chose that moment to dramatically mouth "SPINACH" at her while Jake was looking at his tray.

Maya's face burned. She reached for her water, but her elbow knocked into Jake's soda. The can wobbled, tipped—

Jake's reflexes were unreal. He caught it mid-spill, but somehow managed to splash soda all over his own shirt in the process.

They both stared at the wet spot.

"Well," Jake said. "That's definitely not how I pictured this going."

Maya finally saw her reflection in the cafeteria window: the giant piece of spinach, proudly displayed like a green flag of social doom. She could try to play it off, pretend she didn't care, or—

She started laughing. Like, actually laughing. Not fake Instagram laughter, but the ugly kind where you snort.

Jake joined in. Even Marcus cracked up.

"I'm Maya," she said through genuine giggles. "And I apparently need to invest in a portable mirror."

"Jake," he said. "And honestly? The spinach look is bold. I respect the confidence."

Maybe Northwood High wouldn't be so terrible after all.