Dead Battery, Wild Heart

Maya's last 5% battery glowed like a dying ember as she squatted behind the oak tree, frantically patting her pockets. No cable. Of course. The one time her college crush Jake actually noticed her Instagram story, and her iPhone was about to ghost her mid-conversation.

"You good?" Jake's voice drifted from the bonfire circle. His varsity jacket had that BEAR mascot stitched on the chest — the same bear she'd doodled in her notebook all freshman year while pretending to study history.

"Just—vitamin break!" she called back, fumbling in her backpack for her sister's emergency gummies. The ones labeled 'CHILL MODE' that Maya had stolen because regular anxiety meds weren't edgy enough. Whatever. She needed something.

The woods behind the party weren't scary-scary, more like *intimidating* vibes. Like that feeling when you walk into the cafeteria and realize everyone's already formed their friend groups and you're just... background character energy.

Her phone buzzed one last time. Jake: 'ur missing the s'mores. also u look cute tonight'

Maya's stomach did that thing — the pre-cringe, pre-hope, pre-everything flipflop that meant she was about to risk it all. She'd spent three years building her armor: sarcasm, hoodies, perfect grades, the illusion that she didn't care what anyone thought. But Jake's texts had been chipping away at it since September.

"Yo, you're literally missing the BEST part," came Jake's voice, closer now. Crunching leaves. "Coach's legendary scary story. Something about this woods being haunted or whatever—"

"Or whatever?" Maya stepped out from behind the oak, surprise-surprise-vibes making her voice crack. "You're the one who told me last week you don't believe in ghosts."

Jake froze. "You remembered that?"

He said it like she'd just confessed to memorizing his social security number, not a single conversation from study hall. The firelight caught the embarrassment on his face, and suddenly the BEAR on his jacket seemed less like a mascot and more like something that could actually protect someone.

"Yeah," Maya said, her phone finally giving up its ghost in her hand. "I remember stuff."

The vitamin gummy she'd been clutching fell from her palm, rolling into the leaves. Neither of them moved to get it.

"Cool," Jake said, and the way he looked at her — really looked at her — made her feel like she'd finally gotten enough signal. "Wanna sit with me?"

Maya's phone was dead. Her cable was at home. But somehow, for the first time in forever, she didn't feel like disconnecting at all.