The Vitamin Cat Bear

Maya's cat Luna was the only one who didn't ask why she was taking those gross neon-orange gummy vitamins every morning.

"You trying out for the volleyball team again?" her mom asked, popping her head into Maya's room. "Or is this another wellness phase?"

Maya didn't answer. Just crunched down another vitamin gummy that promised radiant skin and energy boosts and literally everything else she was supposed to care about. The packaging was so aesthetic it would've gotten ten thousand likes on TikTok.

Luna jumped onto her desk and knocked over the vitamin bottle. Gummy bears scattered everywhere.

"Thanks, cat," Maya sighed, gathering up the escaped bears. "At least someone's keeping it real."

The real truth was, Maya wasn't taking vitamins for her skin or energy or any of that. She was taking them because somewhere between middle school and now, between "you're so outgoing" and "you've got such a unique look," she'd started feeling like she needed to be... more. More glowy. More energetic. More everything.

Her phone buzzed. Group chat blowing up about someone's sweet sixteen. Everyone was going except her probably, because she'd been weirdly distant lately.

Luna headbutted her hand, demanding pets.

"You're lucky you're a cat," Maya told her. "Nobody expects you to have a brand."

That night, Maya lay in bed scrolling through wellness influencers with their curated vitamins and their perfect lives and their cats that definitely didn't knock over supplement bottles. She thought about how her friend Jordan had come out last year and everyone acted like it was this huge thing, but Jordan was still just Jordan. Still terrible at math, still obsessed with vintage video games.

Some things didn't need fixing.

Maya reached for another vitamin bear. Then stopped. Luna was watching her from the foot of the bed, gold eyes unimpressed.

"You know what?" Maya said to the cat. "I'm good."

She pushed the bottle away. Some things were already enough.