The Vitamin Bull Project

Marcus stared at the cafeteria tray like it was a crime scene. There, amid the pizza and mystery meat, sat a small plastic cup of spinach that looked like it had seen better days—or better centuries.

"You're actually gonna eat that?" Jamal raised an eyebrow, scrolling through his phone. "That's literal tragedy waiting to happen."

"It's not tragic," Marcus said, though his voice cracked mid-sentence. "It's... optimal fuel."

Because here's the thing—Marcus had decided two weeks ago that he was done being Soft Boi Marcus, the guy who got winded walking up three stairs. He'd downloaded this fitness app that claimed everything could be optimized with the right vitamin regimen and a "punch attitude." The app was total bull, but Marcus was seventeen and desperate, which was basically the same thing as being gullible.

He'd been secretly researching animal agriculture for his AP Bio project—specifically, how bulls somehow maintained muscle mass without protein shakes. The answer had been disappointingly un-athletic: they just ate grass all day.

"You're not a bull, Marcus," Sarah said, sliding into the seat opposite him and stealing a grape from his tray. "You're a teenage boy who needs to stop getting his nutrition advice from memes."

Marcus felt the heat rise up his neck. Because Sarah was smart and pretty and had once called his smile "cute" in 9th grade, which was basically the only reason he remembered her name from freshman year orientation. Now she was a junior and had somehow developed opinions about his lunch choices.

"Actually," Marcus said, channeling his newfound confidence from the three push-ups he could now do, "bulls are surprisingly misunderstood. They're not naturally aggressive—that's a myth. They're just... protective."

Sarah stared at him for a long moment. Then she burst out laughing, but not mean laughing. The real kind, where her nose scrunched up and she had to cover her mouth.

"What?" Marcus demanded, though he was fighting back a smile himself.

"Nothing," she said, wiping her eyes. "Just... you're weirdly passionate about livestock. It's cute."

Cute. The word hung there like a verdict. Marcus poked at his spinach dejectedly.

"Look," Sarah said, her voice softening. "The vitamin supplements? Probably bull. But the spinach? Not terrible. And the push-up thing? Actually kind of working."

Marcus looked down at his arms. Had he really gotten bigger, or was he hallucinating progress?

"How did you—"

"Jamal posts your workout snaps," she said. "Every single one. With commentary."

From across the table, Jamal didn't even look up from his phone. "What? It's quality content. The internet needs to witness the glow-up."

Marcus rolled his eyes, but for the first time in months, he felt something shift inside his chest. Not huge. Not life-changing. Just... lighter.

"Fine," he said, picking up his fork and finally taking a bite of the spinach. It tasted like grass and regret, but he swallowed anyway. "But if I pass out from vitamin deficiency, I'm haunting both of you."

"Deal," Sarah said. "But you're still doing those push-ups at lunch tomorrow. I need content for my finsta."

Marcus choked on his spinach. But he was smiling.

Tomorrow, he decided, he'd actually ask her to spot him. After all, confidence wasn't about being a bull. It was about being brave enough to let people see you trying.

Even if trying meant eating spinach in a high school cafeteria while your best friend live-tweeted your dignity.