Crack the Sky

Maya's lucky baseball hat wasn't so lucky anymore. Not with tonight's sky cracking open like an egg about to spill something raw and electric. Her iPhone buzzed in her pocket — third time in two minutes — but she didn't stop running. Not when she'd finally worked up the nerve to do this.

The rain soaked through her hoodie, cold and insistent, but the lightning overhead kept saying: NOW. Like the universe was dramatically underscoring her terrible, brilliant idea. All she could think about was Jordan's face when she'd pretended she didn't care. When she'd let their friend group laugh off what might've been something real. Three weeks of pretending, and now here she was, running through a literal storm because apparently the universe wanted everyone to know she was being dramatic about this.

Her iPhone lit up again. Jordan's name on the screen, the text blur visible even through rain-spattered glass: "where r u???"

Maya's laugh came out sharp and surprised. Of course Jordan would notice. Of course Jordan would be the one checking on her. That was the whole problem, wasn't it? The way Jordan noticed everything. The way Jordan's attention felt like standing too close to something that could hurt you but you couldn't pull away. Like lightning itself — beautiful and terrifying and impossible to outrun.

Another flash of lightning, and suddenly she saw it — Jordan on the corner, umbrella crooked like something from a music video, phone illuminating their face. Looking for her. Actually, properly looking, in that way that made Maya's chest feel like static electricity was building under her skin.

Maya stopped running. Her hat was dripping. Her iPhone buzzed one more time. The storm said what she couldn't: **CRACK**. Some things break open before they can become anything at all. She started forward, and this time, she didn't look away.