Charging Through

The orange cable lay frayed between us like a peace treaty from a war nobody wanted to fight. I'd been staring at my iPhone for twenty minutes, watching the battery percentage tick down like a countdown to something inevitable.

"You're not even listening," Jordan said, crossing their arms. The cafeteria noise swirled around us — trays clattering, laughter exploding from tables where people actually had their lives together.

"I am," I lied, but my thumb kept hovering over Instagram stories. Everyone else seemed to be having the best weekend ever. Meanwhile, my best friend since seventh grade was sitting across from me, looking like they wanted to teleport somewhere else.

The truth was, things had been weird since Jordan came out as nonbinary last month. Not weird like I cared — weird like I didn't know how to be the friend they needed now. Everything felt different. Our jokes landed wrong. Our comfortable silences turned into actual silence.

"You keep checking your phone," Jordan said quietly. "Like you're waiting for something better to show up."

I almost made a joke. Almost said something deflection-witty to change the subject. But then I noticed the way Jordan's hands twisted around their orange soda can, knuckles white. That nervous tic I'd seen a hundred times but never really thought about.

"I'm not," I said, setting my phone down. "I'm just — I don't know how to do this right. The friend thing. I don't want to mess it up."

Jordan blinked. "Mess what up?"

"Us." My voice cracked. "Everything's different now and I'm scared I'm gonna say something wrong and you'll realize I'm actually terrible at this and — "

"Oh my god," Jordan interrupted, but they were smiling now. "You think I changed? I'm still the same person who ate that entire pizza by themselves at your birthday party last year."

"You threw up after."

"Details."

We laughed, and suddenly the orange cable on the table wasn't a barrier anymore. Just a charger, like the one in my backpack that I'd been meaning to give Jordan because theirs was broken.

"Hey," I said, digging through my bag. "I have that spare cable you needed. The braided orange one."

Jordan's eyes lit up. "Dude, I've been looking everywhere for those."

"I know," I said. "That's why I bought it."

Sometimes being a friend doesn't mean saying everything right. It means remembering someone needs a cable, even when you don't know what else to say. We charged our phones together after school, the orange cable stretching between us like a lifeline we'd both been holding onto all along.