Electric Current

The community pool deck radiated heat like second-day pizza left on the counter. I stood there in my too-long board shorts, feeling like a complete fraud while everyone else looked like they belonged in a Nike commercial.

"You coming in or what?" Maya called from the water, droplets flying from her hair like diamonds.

I'd been crushing on Maya since seventh period bio, when she'd corrected my dissection technique without making me feel stupid. Now here we were at Jacob's end-of-summer bash, and I was fully prepared to spend the entire evening chair-bound.

"I'm good," I lied. "Just chilling."

The truth? I swam like a dying goldfish—all flopping and gasping, zero grace. Last summer, my cousin's friend posted a video of me attempting a dive at a family reunion. I'd been tagged as #thrashmaster for three weeks straight.

Maya swam to the edge and rested her chin on her arms. "You sure? Water's perfect."

Beyond her, the pool lights flickered. A storm was rolling in, but nobody cared. This was August in Texas—we swam through hurricanes if we had to.

"I, uh—" I started, but then lightning split the sky, turning everything purple-white for one infinite second. A collective "whoa" rippled through the party. The pool surface reflected the flash like a mirror.

Then the power died.

Pitch darkness swallowed everything. Someone screamed playfully. Another person shouted, "Everyone out!" But in the chaos, I felt a hand grab mine.

"This way," Maya's voice said right beside me.

She led me toward the gazebo, our bare feet slapping against warm concrete. Thunder rattled my teeth. We collapsed onto the bench, breathless and soaked from the sudden downpour.

"You okay?" she asked, leaning in close.

I couldn't see her face, but I could smell her shampoo—coconut and chlorine. Something about the darkness made everything easier. The performative stuff just... dissolved.

"Honestly?" I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I was scared to get in the water."

"Why?"

"Because I suck at swimming. Like, embarrassingly bad."

Maya laughed, and it wasn't mean. "Dude, I spent three years in zombie mode from age twelve to fifteen. I refused to leave the house without makeup. My friends literally had to stage an intervention."

"No way."

"Way. We're all awkward at something. That's literally the whole point of being sixteen."

Another lightning flash illuminated her smile—real, genuine, perfect.

"Teach me?" I asked.

"To swim?"

"Yeah. When the power comes back. No judgment zone."

Maya squeezed my hand in the darkness between thunderclaps. "Deal. But you have to promise not to laugh when I inevitably faceplant off the diving board."

"I would never."

"Liar."

"Okay, maybe a little."

The rain kept falling. Somewhere, someone started playing acoustic guitar. And for the first time all night, I didn't feel like I was faking anything.