The Spinach Incident

Maya's life was basically over. She could feel it—that distinct, crushing awareness that something was irreversibly wrong. She'd spent twenty minutes in the bathroom trying to dislodge the **spinach** from her braces with her tongue, but apparently, the universe had other plans.

"Hey, Earth to Maya," Jordan said, snapping his fingers. "You gonna eat that?"

He was pointing at her **orange**, which sat perfectly rounded on her tray like a beacon of hope she didn't deserve. Jordan Chen, who she'd been lowkey crushing on since seventh grade, was currently staring at her citrus fruit while she had something green and humiliating wedged in her smile.

"Uh, yeah," Maya managed, her face burning hotter than the cafeteria's questionable pizza. "You want it?"

"Nah, just wondering." He leaned back, bumping against the stupid nutrition **pyramid** poster behind him—the one the health teacher had laminated like it was sacred text. "You good? You're acting weird."

Weird. The word hung there like a verdict. Maya had spent all year trying to be normal, to curate the right aesthetic, to say the right things in their group chat. And here she was, defeated by a leafy green vegetable and her own overthinking.

Then Jordan did something unexpected. He reached over, grabbed her orange, and started peeling it.

"You've got spinach in your teeth," he said, casual as anything. "Been trying to figure out how to tell you for like five minutes without making it weird, but apparently I failed at that too."

Maya's stomach dropped. But then she started laughing—actually laughing—because the absurdity of it all was just too much. Jordan was grinning now, handing her back the orange segments like nothing had happened. Like the world hadn't just ended.

"Thanks," she said, popping one in her mouth. "For the orange. And for... you know."

"No problem." He shrugged. "Happens to everyone. Last week? I walked around with chocolate in my teeth all third period."

Maya looked at him—really looked at him—and realized something: the pyramid she'd built in her head, with all its impossible expectations of perfection, wasn't real. The real thing was messier. It was spinach mishaps and awkward conversations and someone peeling your orange because you're too embarrassed to do it yourself.

It was good enough.