Three Lies and a Cat

Maya's text sat unread on her screen for twenty minutes: *u free friday? my friend is having that party*

She stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror—newly dyed purple hair that still felt like someone else's. Friday. Jordan's party. The one everyone would be at. The one where cute humans who made nervous butterflies erupt in your stomach would definitely be present.

But also Friday. Family dinner night. The night her parents served whatever vegetable catastrophe her mom had discovered on Pinterest. Last week: cauliflower wings (a crime against humanity). This week: something with spinach.

*yeah totally!* she typed back, lying through her thumbs. *see u there!*

The universe, apparently, had a twisted sense of humor.

By 7:30 PM Friday, Maya had survived exactly twelve bites of spinach-stuffed something that tasted like lawn clippings wrapped in disappointment. Her dad was in full Story Mode, retelling the same anecdote about his college band for the forty-third time. Her cat, Mochi, had already abandoned dignity to beg for table scraps like a common peasant.

"So, Maya," her mom said, beaming like she'd personally invented culinary innovation. "What do you think?"

"It's... interesting," Maya managed, which was the polite version of *please never make this again*.

*ding* went her phone under the table. A photo from Jordan's party. People she knew. People she wanted to know better. A certain someone with messy dark hair and a leather jacket smiling like they didn't realize they were the main character in everyone's favorite daydream.

Maya's chest squeezed. She was missing it. For spinach.

"Excuse me," she choked out, "bathroom."

She escaped to her room, heart pounding stupidly hard. This was fine. Everything was fine. She'd just—

Mochi bolted past her legs, clearly intent on chaos. In three seconds flat, the cat had knocked over her childhood goldfish bowl (RIP Bubbles, 2019-2021, now repurposed as a succulent container), scattered a notebook of half-finished poems she'd die before letting anyone read, and currently sat on her windowsill looking entirely too pleased with himself.

Maya stared at the mess. At the goldfish-turned-plant container. At the notebook page fallen open to a poem that had the word *notice me* written approximately forty times.

Then she grabbed her jacket.

"Going to Jordan's!" she shouted, already halfway out the door. "Love you! Emergency!"

"But dessert—" her mom started.

"SAVE ME A PIECE!"

The night air hit her face. Her phone buzzed again. *u coming?*

Maya ran toward the familiar house with the purple door, toward awkward conversations and maybe dancing and definitely social anxiety, toward a friend who'd invited her and a crush who might not even know she existed.

Toward being the person she was still figuring out how to be.

*omw,* she typed. *and bring food. i'm starving.*