The Truth in Orange

Maya's third-gen **iphone** flashed with another notification from the group chat—the one where she barely spoke. The freshman roster was basically invisible, but she watched everything. She was basically a professional **spy** at this point, tracking who sat with whom, who liked whose posts, who was suddenly *too cool* for their old friends.

Then she saw it: Valencia, the junior with the perfect feed and the impossible highlight reel, crying behind the bleachers. Her signature **orange** Converse—her whole brand, honestly—were scuffed at the toes. Maya had assumed Valencia's life was 24/main character energy, but there she was, mascara running, looking totally wrecked.

"You coming to the game?" Maya's sort-of **friend** Jenna asked later at lunch. "Ryan's definitely gonna ask Valencia to prom afterward."

Maya glanced across the cafeteria where Valencia sat with her squad, flawless smile back in place like nothing had happened. Meanwhile, Ryan the **bull**—six-foot-two starting linebacker, captain of everything—was laughing too loud at something that wasn't even funny.

"Yeah, no doubt," Jenna said, nodding like it was fact.

That night, Maya's phone buzzed. A DM. From Valencia.

*you saw me today didn't you*

Maya stared at the screen. Then typed back: *saw what*

*behind the bleachers. don't worry, I'm not gonna report you for stalking lol*

*i wasn't—* Maya started, then deleted it. *ok maybe i was kind of watching whatever*

*it's fine,* Valencia replied. *my life looks perfect on here but it's kinda bs. ryan's been hooking up with my best friend since homecoming. i found out today.*

Maya sat up in bed. The Valencia from the feed—the Valencia everyone *thought* they knew—didn't exist.

*that's garbage,* Maya typed. *he's a clown*

*yeah well he's also asking me to prom tomorrow and i'm supposed to say yes because it's *perfect* and it *makes sense* and everyone will *love it***

*so don't*

Valencia's typing bubble appeared, disappeared, appeared again.

*can i tell you something crazy*

*hit me*

*i've been watching your stories for months. you draw in your notes during lunch? the little monsters? they're actually kind of sick*

Maya felt her face get hot.

*nobody's supposed to see those lol*

*well i do. anyway. you seem real. everyone's so fake here.*

The next day, Valencia sat next to Maya at lunch. Jenna's eyebrows practically shot off her face. Ryan the bull walked by, did a double-take, kept walking. Valencia's orange Conises rested next to Maya's beat-up Vans.

"Your monsters," Valencia said, sliding her phone over. "Draw them on my arm."

"What?"

"I need something real today. Do it."

So Maya did. And for the first time all year, she didn't feel like the spy at the edge of everything. She felt like the friend. The *real* kind.