The Vitamin C Code

Maya's mom still left the gummy **vitamin** jar on her counter every morning, like Maya hadn't started high school two months ago. Like she wasn't technically a freshman climbing the social **pyramid** one humiliating lunch table at a time.

"You forgot these again," her mom said, sliding the Orange Immune Support bottle across the granite. "Growing girl needs her nutrients."

Maya stuffed them in her backpack, mortified. What if someone saw? What if Jordan, the junior whose hair fell in deliberate waves, somehow knew?

That was the problem with being a **spy** in your own life. Maya had Jordan's Instagram story notifications on. She knew Jordan's coffee order (oat milk latta, extra shot). She knew Jordan's carpool situation (rode with Tanner, whose dad drove a Tahoe). What she didn't know was how to exist in the same orbit without feeling like a fraud.

The Halloween party at Connor's house was her chance. Pool in the backyard, LED lights changing the water from blue to purple to green. Maya practiced conversation starters in her bathroom mirror. 'Cool playlist.' 'Your costume's sick.' 'Is that real leather?'

She arrived as a pink haze of dry ice fog rolled across the deck. People she'd only seen through screens were suddenly three-dimensional, holding red Solo cups, laughing like they'd known each other forever.

Then she saw it: the **bear**.

Not a real one. A stuffed animal, worn gray with age, propped on a pile of discarded hooders near the outdoor speakers. Its left eye was missing, replaced with a blue button that didn't match.

Maya's stomach dropped. She'd had one just like it. Barney. Named after the dinosaur, naturally, even though he was a bear. She'd hidden him in her closet freshmen orientation week, certain that carrying a childhood relic to high school was social suicide.

"That's pathetic," someone laughed behind her. Maya turned to see Jordan, wearing a vampire costume that was somehow effortless. "Who brings a baby toy to a party?"

"I don't know," Maya heard herself say. "My mom tried to make me take one to summer camp last year. I was like, Mom, I'm fourteen, not four."

Jordan's expression flickered. Then softened. "Yeah. My mom still buys me those gummy vitamins. The ones shaped like dinosaurs?"

"No way." Maya pulled her backpack from where she'd dropped it near a lounge chair, unzipped the front pocket. "Orange Immune Support? She thinks I'm gonna get scurvy or something."

Jordan laughed, and it wasn't mean. "My little sister steals mine. I have to hide them in my room."

They ended up sitting on the pool deck, feet dangling in the water, trading stories about parents who refused to accept they were growing up. Jordan's eyes crinkled when they laughed. The social pyramid didn't feel so steep from down here.

"Hey," Jordan said eventually. "You want to come to the fall showcase? My band's playing."

Maya's heart did something genuinely uncool. "Yeah. Yeah, totally."

Later, she texted her mom from the bathroom: *left vitamins at home can u bring to school tomorrow?*

Some things were worth keeping. Even if they came in dinosaur shapes.