Drowning in Orange

The basement was underwater. Well, maybe not underwater-underwater, but definitely flooding enough that Jordan's vintage sneaker collection was about to be ruined.

"Bro, you seeing this?" Marcus stood at the bottom of the stairs, phone flashlight cutting through the darkness. The water was already ankle-deep, inching toward the boxes of Jordan's stuff.

"I'm seeing it. I'm just processing how dead I'm gonna be when my mom gets home from her business trip." Jordan ran a hand through his hair. His hair—that bright orange he'd dyed two weeks ago as a 'bold statement of individuality' or whatever his YouTube therapist called it. Now it just felt like a beacon. Hey look at me, I'm the idiot whose basement flooded.

The hot water heater had chosen tonight—literally the night of Jordan's first ever house party—to explode. Of course.

"We can fix this," Marcus said, always the optimist. Always the one with a plan.

"How? You gonna bear the weight of this disaster?" Jordan snorted at his own joke. He called his dad 'Bear'—partly because the man was built like a grizzly, partly because he'd single-handedly borne the weight of raising Jordan alone after the divorce. Jordan had never respected that word more until this exact moment.

"Uncle Jerry's over at 42. He's got a wet vac."

"Mr. Kowalski? The guy who yelled at us for—"

"Jordan." Marcus's voice dropped. "He's literally a retired plumber who helped me fix my bike last summer. He's not the villain in your coming-of-age movie."

Jordan hated when Marcus used his psychology-major-for-sure vocabulary. But he was right. Mr. Kowalski was just some lonely old guy who probably missed having kids around.

"Fine. But you're doing the talking."

They spent the next three hours hauling wet boxes, running the wet vac, and listening to Mr. Kowalski tell stories about his own basement flood in '98. The guy wasn't so bad once you got past the grumpy neighbor exterior. He even complimented Jordan's orange hair—said it reminded him of his daughter's 'rebellious phase' back in the day.

By midnight, the basement was mostly dry. Jordan's sneakers were safe. The party was definitely cancelled, but somehow Jordan didn't even care.

"You gonna tell your mom?" Marcus asked as they sat on the front steps, sharing a bag of stale chips from the pantry.

"Yeah. She'll be cool about it. Bear always says broken stuff happens—it's how you deal with it that matters." Jordan stared up at the stars. "I think I finally get what he meant."

Marcus nodded. "Plus, we basically pulled off a minor miracle. That's gotta count for something."

"Yeah. Something." Jordan grinned, the orange streetlamp reflecting off his hair. "Next time though? We're springing for the good insurance."