Vitamin Cat December

The bass from Tyler's basement thumped through my sneakers like a second heartbeat. I stood by the snack table, clutching a warm cup of orange soda like it was some kind of emotional support beverage.

"You gonna drink that, or just marry it?" a voice asked.

I jumped. A girl with hair the color of a vitamin commercial — bright, unnatural, perfect — leaned against the doorframe. She was watching me with amusement.

"I'm considering my options," I said, which was exactly the kind of thing I said when I had no idea what to say.

"Maya." She held out her hand. "And that orange soda is probably flat by now."

I introduced myself. We talked about nothing — school, the weird humidity, how Tyler's mom had somehow produced an entire taco bar for a bunch of sixteen-year-olds who mostly wanted to stand around awkwardly.

Then I heard it.

A yowl from the laundry room. Not a cute meow. A full-on, I-will-destroy-you battle cry.

Maya's eyes lit up. "Is that a CAT?"

Before I could respond, she was already moving. I followed, curious despite myself. The laundry room was dark except for the glow of the washing machine's dial. A creature with one ear half-shredded and fur like it had seen some serious battle stared up at us.

"Oh my god," Maya whispered, crouching down. "Look at his little battle scars."

The cat hissed.

"He's not really the 'little' type, is he?" I said.

Maya pulled a piece of turkey from her pocket. "All cats are little. They just don't know it yet."

The cat considered the turkey. He considered Maya. He considered me. Then he ate the turkey.

"He's perfect," she declared. "We're keeping him."

"We?"

"You and me. We're in this together now."

Something about the way she said it — like this was already a thing, like we were already a team — made my chest do something stupid and fluttery.

The cat wound around her legs, purring like a tiny, angry motorcycle.

"What should we name him?" I asked.

Maya studied him. "Vitamin."

"Vitamin?"

"Like, he's good for you. You need him. But also he might kind of taste bad if you chewed him."

"That's the worst thing anyone has ever said."

"I know." She grinned. "But you laughed."

I had.

"Hey," she said, "wanna get out of here? There's this diner on 4th that's open all night. We could get actual food."

"What about Vitamin?"

"He's a cat. He knows how to dodge."

Outside, the air was finally cool. Maya's orange hair caught the streetlamp glow as she walked a little ahead of me, turning back every few steps to make sure I was following.

"You coming?"

"Yeah," I said. "I'm coming."

The cat watched from Tyler's bushes. He looked like he approved.

Vitamin, I thought. Maybe he really was good for me.