SLIDING INTO YOUR DMS

The message was already delivered when Maya realized what she had done. She stared at the screen with her thumb still resting on the send button, and watched the blue bubble sit there like it belonged. It didn't. It belonged in Priya's inbox, not in @lit.with.jace's, but her phone didn't know that and now neither did the stranger on the other end. She had meant to send it to Priya. The whole rant about Jace Whitmore and the scholarship and how unfair the world was had been meant for her best friend, who would reply with something like girl, breathe. Then they would laugh about it and everything would be fine. Instead, it had gone to a poetry account she followed but never spoke to. Maya locked her phone and set it face down on the bed, then picked it up again. No reply. She refreshed, still nothing, then opened i********: and scrolled for a while before closing it and checking the messages again. Maybe the account owner didn't read DMs from strangers, and this would sit there forever while she pretended it never happened. She typed out an apology that said sorry, wrong person, ignore that and sent it before she could overthink. Then she turned off her phone, tossed it onto the other side of the bed, and told herself she was done. She lasted four minutes. When she turned it back on, there was a notification. @lit.with.jace: Sounds like he's an i***t. Tell me more. Maya read the words twice, then three times, then typed back: he's not an i***t. that's the problem. he's actually perfect and everyone knows it. @lit.with.jace: Perfect people are boring. She snorted, an ugly sound she was glad no one heard. he's not boring either. he's just… he doesn't even try and everything works out for him. and i'm over here killing myself for a scholarship he probably didn't even want. @lit.with.jace: Did he get it? yes. @lit.with.jace: Then he wanted it. He just didn't admit it. Especially guys. Maya frowned. She had expected sympathy or agreement, not this quiet observation from a stranger who had no idea what he was talking about. how do you know @lit.with.jace: Because no one applies for something they don't want. She didn't have a reply for that, so she sat with her phone warm in her hand while the cursor blinked at her. @lit.with.jace: What's your name? Maya's thumb hovered over the keyboard. Being anonymous made her brave, like she could be anyone she wanted. So she lied. Nova. @lit.with.jace: Nova. Like the star? like the supernova. the one that explodes. @lit.with.jace: That's fitting. She smiled and typed: what's yours @lit.with.jace: Orion. the constellation? @lit.with.jace: The hunter. But yeah. that's pretentious @lit.with.jace: You started it. Maya laughed out loud, then covered her mouth and glanced around her room. Her mom was downstairs closing up the shop, and the apartment was quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator and the traffic outside. okay, orion. it's late. i should go. @lit.with.jace: You're the one who DM'd me at 2AM. and you're the one who replied @lit.with.jace: Fair. Goodnight, Nova. She typed goodnight and set the phone down, then picked it up again to scroll through the conversation from the beginning. Something about it felt different, more real than most of the conversations she had during the day. She put the phone on her nightstand and turned off the light. For the first time in weeks, she fell asleep without watching the ceiling for an hour. The next morning, she walked into school with her hood up and her earbuds in, trying to disappear into the crowd. It didn't work. Priya spotted her from across the hallway and made a beeline for her, waving a crumpled flyer in the air. "Did you see this?" Priya asked, shoving the paper into her hands. Maya looked down. It was a notice about the Westbrook Merit Scholarship, the one she had applied for and lost. Someone had printed Jace Whitmore's name in bold at the top and taped it to every wall in the main building. "I saw it," Maya said, folding the flyer and handing it back. "I don't care." "You don't care that the entire school knows he got it and you didn't?" "I care that people keep talking about it." Priya studied her for a moment. "You're doing that thing where you pretend you're fine when you're not." "I'm fine." "You're not." Maya pulled her hood tighter and walked to class. She was fine. She had to be. --- That afternoon, she was standing in line at the boba shop her parents owned, waiting for her mom to finish with a customer, when the door opened and Jace Whitmore walked in. He was with two other guys from the football team, laughing about something, his letterman jacket slung over one shoulder. Maya's throat tightened. Of all the places in town, he had to walk into hers. She turned her back and pretended to organize the cups behind the counter. Her mom glanced up and smiled at the group. "Welcome in. What can I get for you?" Jace stepped forward, scanning the menu on the wall. "Can I get a taro milk tea with extra boba?" "Coming right up." Maya kept her back turned while her mom made the drink, hoping he wouldn't recognize her. She heard him thank her mom, heard the sound of his footsteps heading toward the door, and let out a breath when the bell above the door chimed. Then he spoke again, softer this time. "Hey, you go to Westbrook, right?" She turned around. He was looking at her, his head tilted slightly like he was trying to place her. "Yeah," she said. "You're in my English class." "Yep." He nodded slowly. "I'm Jace." "I know who you are." The words came out sharper than she meant them to. He blinked, then laughed under his breath. "Right. Sorry." He raised his cup in a mock toast and walked out the door. Maya stared after him, her hands trembling slightly. He had no idea who she was. He had no idea she had applied for the same scholarship, or that she had spent the last three months hating him from a distance. He just thought she was some girl behind a counter. That night, she opened her messages and saw Orion was online. @lit.with.jace: Still thinking about what you said. About the guy. You clearly care more than you're letting on. I don't care. I just hate him. @lit.with.jace: Sure you do. She rolled her eyes and got ready for bed, but she was smiling, and that was the problem.