Electric Current

Maya stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her towel like a lifeline. The water shimmered under the patio lights, deceptively calm, while inside her chest, her heart did jumping jacks.

"You coming in or what?" Jordan called from the deep end, flicking water with that annoyingly perfect baseball player's confidence. Jordan Martinez, who'd pitched a no-hitter last week and somehow still had time to be the most annoyingly gorgeous person Maya had ever spent entire summers pretending not to stare at.

"I'm good," Maya muttered, but her voice cracked. Typical.

The pool party raged behind her—someone's Bluetooth speaker bumping, bodies cannonballing, enough chlorine and teenage hormones to choke a whale. Maya had spent sixteen years perfecting the art of being the girl who read on the pool deck instead of in it, but senior year was supposed to be different. Supposed to be about finally doing stuff.

Lightning cracked across the sky, purple-white veins stitching the darkness. Everyone oohed, but nobody moved. Storms were just weather until they weren't.

"That's our cue to get out," Maya said, turning toward her flip-flops.

"Wait." Jordan swam to the edge, water streaming down their face like something from a movie. "You never go in. Like, ever."

Maya shrugged, but her face burned. "I'm just not a swimming person."

"What does that even mean?" Jordan pulled themselves up, sitting on the pool edge, legs dangling in. "You're either a person or you're not."

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The hair on Maya's arms stood up.

"I don't know how," she admitted, barely audible over the music. "Never learned. My parents were always working and—" She stopped. Why was she telling Jordan this?

Jordan's eyes went wide, then softened. "Oh. Oh, damn.

Then thunder rumbled, low and serious, and suddenly Jordan was standing up, grabbing a towel. "Okay, lesson time. Quick. Before the lifeguard comes over with her whole deal."

"What? Now?"

"You gonna learn next year when we're supposed to be adults?" Jordan held out a hand. "Come on. I played baseball all summer; I can teach you to not drown in five minutes. Easy."

Maya stared at that hand. Strong, calloused from gripping bats, with chipped blue polish on the thumbnails. Her chest felt like lightning had struck inside it now, electric and terrifying and perfect.

She took Jordan's hand.

The water was cold, shocking her skin, but Jordan's grip was warm. "Breathe," they said, and for the first time, Maya did.