Charging at the Sunrise

The party was already dead when Kayla's phone hit 3%. Typical.

"Anyone have a charger?" she asked the room, holding up her dying iPhone like evidence at a crime scene.

Jake from AP Chem pointed toward the kitchen. "There's a cable behind the fridge. Good luck, though. That thing's ancient."

Kayla squeezed past people she barely knew, her heart doing that weird flutter thing it always did around crowds. She wasn't shy, exactly. Just selectively social. Her therapist called it "energy conservation." Kayla called it surviving high school without losing her mind.

Behind the refrigerator, a tangled mess of wires waited like a snake pit. She found the cable - gross, dust-covered, probably older than her little brother - and jammed it into her phone. Nothing happened.

"You gonna fight that fridge too?"

She jumped. Connor. The guy who'd transferred in three weeks ago and already had half the soccer team calling him "bull" for taking out that massive linebacker during gym flag football. He was leaning against the counter, peeling an orange.

"It's not fighting back yet," Kayla said, then immediately wanted to die. That was so lame.

Connor laughed though, actually laughed. "Fair. Want the real charger? I've got a portable bank in my car."

They ended up sitting on his tailgate, passing the orange he'd peeled in one long, perfect spiral. The air smelled like someone's bonfire and upcoming summer.

"So what's your deal?" Connor asked, like they'd known each other forever instead of sharing exactly zero classes.

"My deal?"

"Yeah. You seem like you're secretly observing everyone. Like you're writing a documentary in your head."

Kayla stared at him. "Are you psychic or something?"

"No. I just do that too."

They talked until her phone hit 100% and then some. About how high school felt like waiting room for real life. About how his dad kept moving them around. About how she wanted to be a photographer but her parents wanted her to be anything that came with health insurance.

When Connor's water bottle rolled across the tailgate, Kayla caught it without thinking. Their fingers brushed. Electricity that had nothing to do with charging cables.

"Hey," he said softly. "Next party? You don't have to hide behind the fridge."

Kayla smiled, actually smiled, not the fake one she used for teachers and relatives. "Maybe. If you bring oranges."