Late August
The first day of eighth grade arrived with Maya having a full-blown crisis at 6:30 AM.
"I can't do this," she said, standing in front of the mirror in an outfit she'd changed seventeen times. "Nothing looks right. Everything's wrong. I look like a disaster."
"You look fine," I said, leaning against the doorframe with my coffee.
"Fine isn't good enough. First day of eighth grade needs to be perfect."
"Why does it need to be perfect?"
"Because!" She gestured wildly at her reflection. "Everyone's going to be looking at everyone else, judging, deciding where you fit in the social hierarchy. First impressions matter."
"Since when do you care about social hierarchy?"
"Since I realized I'm about to be one of the oldest kids in middle school and that comes with expectations."
Kai appeared, also holding coffee, equally bemused. "May-May, you're spiraling."
"I'm preparing!"
"You're catastrophizing. There's a difference."
