The Spinach Incident

The cable guy was supposed to come between 8 and 12. It was 2:47 PM, and I'd been sitting in the living room for six hours straight, watching my phone battery drain from 94% to 23%. My mom had forgotten to leave cash for pizza, so I was stuck eating cold spinach straight from the container like some kind of sad giant rabbit.

"You're so dramatic," Maya had said that morning when I told her I couldn't hang because of the cable appointment. "It's just internet, Leo. You'll survive."

But she didn't get it. The internet wasn't just internet — it was my lifeline. Without WiFi, I couldn't text her. Couldn't see if she'd left me on read for the third time today. Couldn't overanalyze the three-word response she'd sent to my paragraph-long good morning text.

My dog, Buster, nudged my hand with his wet nose. He wanted water. Fine. At least one of us was hydrated.

I got up to refill his bowl and that's when I saw it through the kitchen window — Maya, walking down the street with him. Tyler. The Tyler from my history class who somehow made everything sound effortless and cool and like he'd never experienced a single awkward moment in his entire life.

They were laughing. She was laughing that real laugh, head thrown back, not the fake one she gave me when I made a joke that only I thought was funny.

Something snapped inside me. Not in a dramatic movie way. In a quiet, terrible way.

I didn't think. I just grabbed my keys and started running.

Out the door. Past the confused cable guy who'd finally pulled up. Down the street, my flip-flops slapping against the pavement because I was too stupid to put on actual shoes. I ran until my lungs burned and my eyes watered and I couldn't tell if I was crying or if it was just the wind or both.

I ended up at the old pond behind the elementary school. Sat on the edge with my feet in the water, watching ripples distort my reflection. Some random dog wandered over and sniffed my knee. Not Buster. Just a stray who decided I looked like I needed company.

"You too, huh?" I said to the dog. It licked my hand and walked away.

Classic.

I sat there for an hour. My phone buzzed eight times. I didn't check it. When I finally walked home, the cable guy was gone and my mom was furious and the WiFi was working and Maya had left me three voicasks and five texts.

The last one said: "Tyler asked if you wanted to come to the party with us. I was trying to invite you, you idiot."

I stared at my screen. Then at the container of spinach on the counter. Then at Buster, who was passed out on the couch like nothing had happened.

Sometimes you run so fast away from something that you forget to check if you were actually running toward anything worth reaching.

I texted Maya back: "I'm in."

She replied instantly: "Finally. Wear that green shirt. It makes your eyes look not terrible."

I smiled. For the first time all day, I wasn't running anymore.