Vitamin Water and Wolves

Maya clutched her orange vitamin water bottle like a shield while standing at the edge of the lunch courtyard. Two weeks into sophomore year, and she still hadn't found her people. The courtyard had segregated into territories—jocks by the basketball courts, drama kids near the theater wing, stoners behind the portable classrooms—and Maya? She was nowhere.

"Hey, Vitamin Girl."

Maya jumped. Tyler from her English class leaned against the oak tree, wearing that stupid hoodie with the bear on it that everyone seemed to have except her. He nodded toward her hand. "Every day. Orange vitamin water. You're predictable."

"Better than being basic," Maya shot back, then immediately regretted it. Why did she always say things that made zero sense?

Tyler laughed though. "Touché."

His dog—a chaotic golden retriever named Bear, naturally—bounded over and knocked into Maya's legs, spilling vitamin water all over her white converse. Great. Now she smelled like a walking health supplement.

"Bear!" Tyler groaned, but he was smiling. "Sorry about that. He's basically a bull in a china shop."

"Bear the bull? That's confusing."

"Tell me about it."

They sat together on the grass while Bear attempted to eat a dandelion. For once, Maya's sarcastic inner monologue stayed quiet. Tyler actually listened when she talked about her mom's obsession with essential oils and how she secretly hated her carefully curated aesthetic. He admitted he only wore the bear hoodie because his mom bought five of them on sale.

"You know," Tyler said, "this whole 'finding your tribe' thing? It's BS. You just find people who don't make you want to rip your own skin off."

Maya smiled so hard her face hurt. She had her people. Or at least, a person. And Bear, who was currently licking Tyler's ear.

"Want to get orange vitamin water tomorrow?" she asked.

"Only if you promise to spill it on me this time. Fair's fair."