"You're overthinking it," Sam said, leaning against the brick wall. Sam had been Maya’s best friend since kindergarten. He knew her "anxious tapping" cadence by heart. "He didn't wave back in the hall," Maya muttered.
"I... I got you this." He fumbled a small, crushed box out of his pocket. Inside was a keychain of a pixelated cat—a reference to an inside joke from three months ago.
The school dance was the inevitable climax. It was a humid Friday in the gym that smelled of floor wax and too much Axe body spray.
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