The Vitamin Complex

My friend Maya burst into my room holding a bag of something green and leafy like she'd just discovered gold.

"Dude, you're not gonna believe this," she said, dropping onto my bed. Bean, my elderly golden retriever, thumped his tail but refused to vacate his spot. Typical. "Tyler from AP Bio posted this pic of his morning smoothie and it's literally got, like, every superfood known to humanity."

I squinted at her phone screen. "That looks like grass clippings and despair."

"No, it's, like, wellness. He's doing this whole vitamin routine now." Maya's voice went all dreamy. "He said he's never felt more aligned."

Aligned. Sure. I'd been crushing on Tyler since freshman year, and suddenly he was Mr. Wellness, posting about gut health and spiritual clarity at 7 AM. Meanwhile, I was still struggling to remember to feed myself actual food.

"So... what? You're gonna start drinking lawn clippings too?"

"No, YOU are." Maya's eyes lit up. "Think about it. You match his energy, you casually mention how obsessed you are with your new vitamin regimen, and boom—conversation starter."

That's how I found myself at Whole Foods at 5 PM on a Wednesday, staring blankly at a wall of supplements while a woman in workout clothes aggressively whispered into her AirPods nearby. I'd already grabbed organic spinach because apparently that was step one of becoming the kind of person who uses the word "aligned" unironically.

"Can I help you?" The store employee looked at me, Maya (who'd tagged along for moral support), and my growing pile of questionable life choices.

"My friend is having a wellness awakening," Maya announced proudly.

I died inside. Just a little.

"Cool." He gestured to the vitamin aisle. "What's your vibe?"

My vibe? My vibe was eating pizza rolls at 2 AM and stress-crying about chemistry tests. But instead I said, "Energy? Balance? Whatever makes me not feel dead all the time?"

The employee—his nametag said KYLE, 24—nodded solemnly. "Bro, I got you. B-complex for stress, D3 because we're all vitamin D deficient, and these greens for, like, overall gut game."

"Gut game," I repeated. The words tasted like surrender.

Back at my house, I attempted to make The Smoothie while Maya filmed it for her story. I tossed in a truly concerning amount of spinach, some random fruits, three vitamins I couldn't pronounce, and hoped for the best.

Bean watched from his bed with an expression I can only describe as concerned father energy.

"It's... green," I said, staring into the blender's vortex of despair.

"Post it," Maya commanded. "Tyler's gonna be so obsessed."

I posted. I captioned it something cringe about wellness journeys and new chapters. Almost immediately, Maya's phone buzzed.

"Oh my GOD. Tyler liked it. He commented 'good vibes only.'"

I should've felt victorious. Instead, I felt... hollow. Like, was this it? Was this what becoming my best self meant? Drinking something that tasted like wet grass and waiting for validation from a boy who probably didn't know my last name?

Bean let out one of those dramatic old-dog sighs and hobbled over, nudging my hand with his wet nose. He wanted actual food, not performance wellness. He wanted connection, not content.

"Hey buddy," I whispered, scratching behind his ears the way he liked. "You're right. This is stupid."

Maya looked up from her phone. "What?"

"I'm not doing this." I pushed the smoothie away. "I'm not turning myself into a weird wellness caricature to impress someone who thinks 'aligned' is a personality trait. I like pizza. I hate spinach. And I'd rather hang out with my dog than pretend to be someone I'm not."

Maya blinked. Then she grinned. "Finally. That smoothie looked terrible anyway."

"You're the one who told me to—"

"I know, I know, but I was literally reciting what I read in a magazine article about 'how to get your crush to notice you.'" She rolled her eyes. "Obviously that was terrible advice."

"Yeah. No kidding."

We ordered pizza. I deleted the post. Bean got a pepperoni, which was definitely not vet-approved but definitely worth it. And Tyler? Whatever. If he wanted someone who drank lawn clipping smoothies and used words like "alignment" unironically, that wasn't my vibe anyway.

Sometimes the most radical act of self-care is just being yourself—even if yourself hates spinach and thinks wellness culture is kinda unhinged.