Dead Connection

The cable guy was supposed to be here three hours ago. Instead, I was stuck at my aunt's house for the summer with nothing but a blank TV screen and my mom's voice in my head reminding me to take my vitamin D gummies because "indoor kids get rickets, Jordan."

"You're staring at it like it's gonna magically fix itself," Maya said from the doorway. She lived next door, had dyed-blue hair that matched her pool slide, and was the only person I'd talked to since moving to this suburb.

"It's an art form," I said. "The art of staring at useless technology."

She laughed, and I felt that weird flutter in my chest that definitely had nothing to do with vitamin deficiencies. "My pool has better reception. Come over."

Her backyard was what real estate agents called "an oasis" and what I called "intimidating." The pool gleamed like something from a magazine, and here I was in my third-day-wearing-them board shorts from Target. Maya's friends were already there—three girls with TikTok-perfect hair and a guy named Tyler who looked like he'd never experienced a single awkward moment in his life.

"This is Jordan," Maya said. "Saved me from cable-related boredom."

"Cable?" Tyler scoffed. "Nobody watches cable anymore. We stream."

I thought about explaining that my mom's MLM boss had cut off our internet because she wouldn't buy the new vitamin starter pack, but that sounded pathetic. So I just said, "Old school, I guess."

Maya didn't make me jump in. She sat on the edge with me, legs in the water, while her friends did cannonballs and talked about people I didn't know. "My dad says cable companies are evil empires," she said quietly. "But he still pays for the sports package."

"Hypocrisy's universal," I said.

"You're funny, Jordan." She looked at me, really looked at me. "You should come over tomorrow. Help me figure out why my grandma's TV only plays infomercials."

"I'm basically a professional," I said, and my heart did something that definitely required medical attention or maybe just more vitamin G—guts.

The cable guy never showed. But Maya's grandma's TV turned out to just need the input changed, and her grandma made us lemonade and told us stories about meeting her husband at a dance in 1962. I learned that Maya wanted to be a marine biologist, that she had a scar on her knee from trying to learn to skateboard, and that she thought Tyler was "the human equivalent of plain white toast."

"So," she said, walking me to the fence, "same time tomorrow?"

"Definitely." I paused. "Hey, Maya?"

"Yeah?"

"Thanks for rescuing me from the cable situation."

She smiled. "Anytime, Jordan. Anytime."

Back at my aunt's house, the TV was still black. But for the first time all summer, I didn't care. I took a vitamin D gummy anyway. Just in case. Some things your mom gets right, even if it's accidental.