Electric at the Summit

The party at Justin's house was exactly what Maya expected: too loud, too crowded, and way too much cheap cologne. She stood near the snack table, clutching a warm can of orange soda like it was a lifeline. This was sophomore year, and apparently, that meant she'd graduated from the kids' table to the invisible table.

"Hey, Maya!" Justin yelled from across the room. "We're doing a pyramid! Come take the bottom!"

A pyramid. Of course. Because nothing says peak high school social dynamics like a drunk human pyramid on a suburban carpet. She started to shake her head, but then she saw him—Ethan, from her AP History class, laughing as he climbed onto someone's shoulders. Ethan, who she'd been lowkey obsessed with since September, who had actually smiled at her yesterday when they both reached for the same textbook.

"Sure," Maya heard herself say. "Whatever."

As she positioned herself between two football players she barely knew, Maya's heart hammered. This was stupid. This was so stupid. She was literally building a pyramid with people who wouldn't remember her name tomorrow. But then Ethan climbed up beside her, his knee pressing against her thigh, and suddenly her brain went completely static.

"Ready?" someone shouted.

"ONE TWO THREE—"

And then the whole thing collapsed.

Maya landed on something soft—probably someone's backpack—while the room erupted in chaos. But through the tangled limbs and spilled drinks and someone's mom rushing in with paper towels, her eyes met Ethan's. He was laughing, hair messy, shirt rumpled, and he was looking directly at her like she was the only person in the room.

Outside, lightning flashed through the windows, illuminating everything in this wild, electric moment. She felt something shift in her chest—not a crush, exactly, but bigger. Like she'd crossed some invisible line. She wasn't just the quiet girl in the back anymore. She was here, in the mess of it, part of something real.

"You okay?" Ethan asked, reaching out a hand.

Maya grabbed it, letting him pull her up. Their hands touched for exactly three seconds—she counted—and sparks flew that had nothing to do with the storm outside.

"Yeah," she said, grinning. "I'm good."

Her orange soda was somewhere on the carpet. The pyramid had lasted six seconds. But this feeling? This lightning-strike, heart-pounding, completely alive feeling? That was going to last.