The Vitamin Summer

The air conditioning at Vitality Shack was broken AGAIN, and I was sweating through my fourth work shirt of the week. My manager Gary—a man whose head was shaped suspiciously like a bull—stood behind me, arms crossed.

"You're not upselling the omega-3s, Maya. Missed opportunity." Gary lived for commission. I lived for getting through my shift without crying.

The door chimed. Quinn walked in.

My stomach did that thing where it forgot how to be an organ. Quinn Rivera. Junior class president. Swim team captain. The person I'd been quietly, desperately in love with since seventh grade.

They looked different somehow. Softer around the edges, dark circles under their usually bright eyes. They weren't wearing their swim team jacket—just an oversized hoodie in June.

"Hey, Maya." Quinn's voice cracked. "I, um. I need something."

I froze. This was it. My moment. I was going to be cool and charming and—

"What's up?" I squeaked. Smooth. Real smooth.

Quinn leaned in, like they were confessing a crime. "Do you have anything for... energy? Like, actually. Not the bullshit caffeine stuff."

Gary appeared like he'd been summoned by the scent of a potential sale. "Vitamin B complex! Iron! We've got this new pre-workout that'll make you hallucinate your own PRs!"

Quinn flinched. "No, I mean. I'm just tired. All the time."

The words hung in the sticky, supplement-scented air. Behind Quinn, through the glass door, I could see the school parking lot. My mom's minivan. The carpool I'd been part of since freshman year, me squeezed in the back while Quinn drove their younger sister and I pretended not to memorize the back of their neck.

The carpool I'd dropped out of yesterday because I couldn't keep pretending.

"I'm just tired," Quinn said again, softer. "Swimming practice is killing me and my dad keeps..." They stopped. "Whatever. It doesn't matter."

It did matter. I could hear it in their voice—the weight of expectation, the drowning feeling of being good at something you hated. I'd been feeling it too, just differently. The pressure to be someone I wasn't, to want things I didn't want.

I reached under the counter and pulled out my own water bottle. The one my mom had packed with those ridiculous electrolyte tablets she swore would cure my existential dread.

"Here," I said. "Water's better than anything in this place anyway."

Quinn's eyebrows shot up. Then, something shifted. Their shoulders dropped. A real smile, not the swim team poster kind.

"You're the girl from carpool," they said. "You stopped riding with us."

"Yeah," I said. "I, um. I got a bike."

"Cool," Quinn said. "Maybe you could show me the route sometime. I think I need to start biking too."

Behind me, Gary made a noise like a dying seal. I'd just lost a sale. I didn't care.

"Yeah," I said, feeling something bright and terrifying blooming in my chest. "I'd like that."

The air conditioning still wasn't fixed. But for the first time all summer, I didn't mind the heat.