Electric at the Deep End

Jordan's hands shook as she lined up the shot. The pool hall was packed—Friday night meant every clique from sophomore to senior year crammed into the dim space, bumping hips and shouting over throwback playlists.

"You gonna take all night?" Marcus teased, leaning against his cue like he owned the place. He'd been flirting with her since August, and Jordan had spent three months perfecting the art of subtle avoidance.

"Focus," she muttered, though her stomach did that annoying flutter thing. The 8-ball sat right in the pocket. One shot, and she'd finally beat him.

Her phone buzzed. Mom: *Emergency spinach casserole intervention. Your sister's sobbing in the kitchen.*

Jordan groaned. "I gotta go. Family emergency."

"Spinach emergency?" Marcus raised an eyebrow. "That's a new one."

"Shut up." She grabbed her backpack, but before she could escape, the sky outside cracked open. A flash of **lightning** split the darkness, and every fluorescent light in the place flickered and died.

Chaos erupted. Someone screamed. A few people laughed. Jordan stood frozen as emergency lights bathed everything in creepy red glow.

"Everyone calm down!" someone shouted, but then the power sputtered back on, revealing Marcus standing way closer than she'd realized.

"You okay?" he asked, actually looking worried for once instead of his usual confident self.

"Yeah, just—" Jordan started, but then she felt it. A chunk of **spinach** from the cafeteria lunch, wedged in her front teeth. The entire hall had seen her smile like a goober for two hours.

She died inside. Right there. Social suicide.

Marcus cracked up. But not in a mean way. His laugh was this surprised, genuine sound that made his nose crinkle. "Jordan, I've had barbecue sauce on my chin since fourth period."

"Wait, really?"

"Really. And nobody told me because they were too busy trying to look cool." He gestured at the half-empty hall, where people were slowly recovering their composure. "Fake it 'til you make it, right?"

Jordan started laughing too. The tension that had been building between them for months dissolved into something real. Something not awkward.

"Your shot," he said, handing her the cue. "Still time to beat me."

The **pool** table waited. Her hands didn't shake anymore. Sometimes the universe had to knock the power out just to get people to stop performing and start living.