Battery Life

Maya's iphone died at 11:47 PM. Exactly. The screen went black while she was mid-scroll through Addison's story—some filtered sunset captioned "no thoughts just vibes." Maya groaned, the sound loud in her silent room. Outside her window, her friends clustered around a bonfire at Jordan's house, their faces glowing orange in the firelight. She'd bailed two hours ago, claiming a headache. Real reason: her social battery was at 1%.

Now she stood at her window, watching them. They looked like zombies—all those teens hunched over phones, blue light flickering across their faces even as they supposedly "hung out." Kelsey posted a tiktok. Jordan replied to a comment. Someone else reshared an Instagram story. Meanwhile, they were physically together, not even looking at each other.

Then it happened. A crack of lightning split the sky, illuminating everything in a sudden flash of white. For that split second, Maya saw them clearly—heads snapping up, phones forgotten, everyone looking at the sky at the same time. The storm rolled in fast, rain scattering the zombie ritual.

She watched them scatter toward Jordan's covered porch, phones tucked away now, actually laughing and talking. Really talking. Maya grabbed her hoodie, slipped out the back door, and sprinted through the rain toward the porch.

"You came!" Jordan called over the thunder.

Maya shook her wet hair like a dog. Orange porch light, rain soaking her hoodie, her phone still dead in her room. And for the first time all night, she felt present. The storm had broken something—the weird collective trance they'd all been in. They sat on porch steps, watching the lightning, someone passed around an orange soda that tasted like artificial sunshine and nostalgia.

"Kinda sad it took a storm to make us actually hang out," Kelsey said.

"Yeah," Maya laughed, shivering. "But at least we're not zombies anymore."

They sat there until the rain slowed, phones still forgotten on tables and pockets, nobody checking their battery life. Nobody missing it either.