Under the Brim

Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her jeans—subtly, she hoped—and adjusted the oversized baseball cap she'd practically lived in since seventh grade. It was her armor. Her hide-from-everyone-and-their-expectations shield.

"You okay, Maya?" Chloe asked, popping up beside her like she'd apparated. Which, knowing Chloe, she might as well have done.

"Fine," Maya said. "Just... fine."

Lies. All of it. Maya was at Jordan's party—actually inside, not hovering by the snacks like a normal person with social anxiety—and her crush was five feet away, looking unfairly good in that flannel he always wore. And Maya had done what any self-respecting overthinker would do: she'd spent the past three weeks cyber-stalking him on every platform, basically becoming a digital spy in the worst way possible. She knew his favorite ice cream (mint chip, questionable but valid), his dog's name (Buster), and that he'd once posted a sunset captioned " vibes" with zero irony.

Now here they were. In the same room. Breathing the same air.

And she was wearing a hat indoors like some kind of weirdo.

"You should take off the hat," Chloe said, like she could read minds. "You have nice hair."

"Nope."

"Maya."

"Nope."

Jordan—THE Jordan, not Jordan-the-host—started walking over. Maya's heart did something illegal. Her palms were officially swamp territory now.

"Hey," he said. "I like your hat."

Maya blinked. "What?"

"The hat. It's cool. Where'd you get it?"

"Uh. Target?"

"Nice." He grinned. "I'm Jordan, by the way. We have English together."

"I know," Maya said, then immediately wanted to die. "I mean—yeah, Mr. Harrison's class. The one where he makes us annotate everything."

"The worst." Jordan laughed. "Hey, I'm gonna get some food. You want anything?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. "I'm good. Thanks."

"Cool." He paused. "See you in English."

As he walked away, Maya's hand went to the brim of her hat.

"You're taking it off," Chloe said.

"What? No."

"Yes. You just had a normal conversation with a cute boy while wearing a weird hat indoors at a party. That's peak confidence. You don't need the armor anymore."

Maya looked at her hands. Her palms were still sweaty, but somehow that didn't matter as much anymore.

"Fine," she said, and pulled off the hat.

Her hair was messy. Her face was flushed. But she was still there, still standing, and somehow that was enough.