The Spinach Pyramid Incident

Maya's hair had been behaving itself for exactly three weeks before it betrayed her. Three weeks of perfect beach waves that said I'm effortlessly cool, I definitely didn't spend twenty minutes with a curling iron this morning. But the day of freshman cheerleading tryouts? Her hair decided to channel an electrocuted poodle.

"You got this, Maya," Jenna said, but her eyes were scanning the gym like a predator. "Just remember what we practiced."

Right. The pyramid. Maya was supposed to be the base—because she was "solid" and "reliable," which she was pretty sure were code words for you're not flyer material with your thick thighs and please don't drop anyone.

Her stomach did backflips. Not just because of the pyramid stunt she'd have to perform, but because of what happened at lunch. She'd been sitting with Lucas—the cute junior who actually laughed at her jokes—when he'd said, "You have a little..." and gestured at his own teeth.

Spinach. From the stupid salad she'd eaten to appear healthy and mature. She'd practically inhaled her napkin trying to get it out. Lucas had smiled, but she'd wanted to dissolve into the gym floor.

Now, watching the cheerleaders form their human pyramids, Maya felt like she was trapped in some bizarre social experiment. Why did high school require literally building pyramids of people? What ancient Egyptian gods were they appeasing with coordinated shouting and polyester uniforms?

"Freshman tryouts, you're up!"

Maya's feet felt like lead as she jogged toward the mat. Her frizzy hair bounced around her face like it had a death wish. Jenna was already in position at the top of the pyramid, smiling with that practiced perfection that made Maya's teeth ache.

"One, two, three, UP!"

Maya planted her feet. She locked her arms. She remembered all the drills about staying tight and trusting your base. But as Jenna launched herself upward, Maya's mind flashed to Lucas and the spinach and her hair and suddenly she was just so done with all of it.

Her knees buckled. Not completely, but enough.

The pyramid swayed. Someone gasped. Jenna's flawless smile cracked as she wobbled, arms windmilling, before the whole thing collapsed in a tangle of limbs and hairspray and minty breath.

Everyone stared.

Maya's face burned. But then—she started laughing. Not a nervous giggle, but actual laughter.

"Did you see that?" she said, still giggling as she helped up a sophomore named Taylor. "That was spectacularly awful."

Taylor blinked, then grinned. "Honestly? Best pyramid fail of the year."

Jenna dusted herself off, glare fixed on Maya. "You did that on purpose."

"No," Maya said, surprising herself. "I just realized I'd rather be running track anyway."

Later, outside the gym, Lucas caught up with her.

"Hey," he said. "I heard what happened. You okay?"

"Never been better." Maya gestured to her still-frizzy hair. "Tragic hair day, pyramid fail, spinach in my teeth. I've hit the embarrassment trifecta."

Lucas laughed—that real laugh, crinkles by his eyes and everything. "Wanna go for a run later? You know, literally running, not cheerleading running?"

"Absolutely," said Maya, and her hair did something wild in the wind, and she didn't even care.