Chasing Lightning

My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip my phone. Three notifications from Maya. Two from the group chat. Zero from him.

"You're overthinking it again," Leo said, chunking a gummy **vitamin** at my head. He missed, obviously. "Marcus is just busy with track practice."

"We're literally on the same track team, Leo. That's the problem."

I stared at the **lightning** bolt stitched across my chest — my varsity jacket, finally. Junior year, and I'd actually made it. Should've felt good. Instead, everything felt like standing on the edge of something huge and terrifying.

Coach Richardson's whistle cut through my spiraling. "Laps! Now! Jordan, you're **running** like you've got somewhere better to be!"

I didn't. Marcus was stretching by the hurdles, all long lines and easy confidence. We'd been flirting for weeks. The kind that makes your friends roll their eyes and your stomach do gymnastics. But since yesterday's meet? Crickets.

The **bull** in the stadium's name was practically taunting me. Meadow Creek High Fighting Bulls. More like Meadow Creek High Awkward Turtles.

Practice was brutal. My legs burned, lungs screaming, but the rhythm cleared my head. Until Marcus fell into step beside me.

"Hey."

"Hey."

We ran in silence for like, a hundred years. Or thirty seconds. My heart was doing something definitely not athletic.

"So,"

"So,"

"My phone died," he said. "After your text. I wanted to—"

The sky opened up. Actual **lightning** cracked across the horizon, close enough that everyone scattered. Marcus grabbed my hand, both of us sprinting for the equipment shed while rain turned the track into a river.

We pressed against the metal wall, shoulders touching, breathing hard. His **palm** was warm against mine, calloused from gripping the baton he never used anymore because he'd switched to hurdles.

"I wanted to say yes," he said, voice low over the rain drumming the roof. "To hanging out. After practice."

My stomach did that thing again. The good kind.

"Cool," I managed. "Cool cool cool."

He laughed, and the sound was better than any varsity jacket.

"You're such a dork, Jordan."

"Yeah, well. You're the one who likes me."

"Yeah," he said, squeezing my hand. "I am."

The storm kept going, but I didn't care. Let it rain. Some things were worth getting soaked for.