Electric Current

Maya's palms were sweating — like, actually dripping — as she clutched her phone under the lunch table. She was basically a professional spy at this point, seventh period in a row of watching the popular girls' Instagram stories without leaving a trace. Pathetic? Maybe. Necessary for survival? Definitely.

"You're doing that thing again," said Jesse, sliding into the seat across from her with a quinoa salad that looked suspiciously like grass.

"What thing?"

"The spy thing. Where you look like you're decoding nuclear launch codes but you're actually just... what? Stalking Skylar's posts?"

Maya tossed her phone face-down. "For your information, Skylar's been leaving weird clues. I think something's up with Jason."

"Or," Jesse said, "you could literally just talk to him. He's in our calc class, Maya. It's not rocket science."

Lightning cracked outside the cafeteria windows — dramatic timing, honestly — making half the cafeteria jump. Maya's heart did this stupid flutter thing. That was the problem with feelings: they were embarrassing and had terrible timing.

"I can't just talk to him," she whispered. "What would I even say? 'Hey, remember when we partnered on that lab and you didn't hate my existence?'

Jesse sighed the long-suffering sigh of someone who'd been watching this slow-motion disaster since freshman year. "Okay, new plan. We're going to the carnival tonight. Palm readers, terrible deep-fried everything, and you're going to practice talking to humans. Starting with me."

"I talk to plenty of humans!"

"Humans who aren't your cousin or me or your cat." Jesse fished out five dollars. "I'll pay for your palm reading. See what they say about your love life. Or lack thereof."

Maya groaned but didn't say no. Which was how she ended up in a neon-striped tent that smelled like patchouli and desperation, watching a woman with excessive eyeliner trace the lines on her palm.

"Interesting," the psychic murmured. "Very interesting."

"That's what you say about everyone."

"No, seriously." The woman looked up, and her eyes were suddenly way too intense. "You're waiting for lightning to strike, literally and metaphorically. But here's the thing — you're not supposed to wait. You're supposed to be the lightning."

Maya walked out of the tent slightly dizzy and deeply suspicious of carnival psychics.

Then she literally ran into Jason.

Like, actually collided with him outside the funnel cake stand. He grabbed her arm to steady her, and Maya's palms did that sweaty thing again, but this time it was almost okay.

"Maya, right? Calc class?"

"Yeah. Calc. Numbers. Math."

Her brain had apparently ceased functioning.

"Cool," Jason said, and he was smiling, which wasn't fair. "I was going to grab some funnel cake. Want to come?"

Be the lightning.

"Yeah," Maya said, and her voice didn't even shake. "I'd love that."