Electric Currents

The pool party at Tyler's house was supposed to be my social redemption arc. Freshman year, and I'd spent the first six months being essentially invisible. But tonight? Tonight was the night I'd finally talk to Maya, the girl who sat behind me in biology and always doodled tiny galaxies in the margins of her notes.

I stood by the edge of the pool, clutching my towel like a security blanket. The July heat was oppressive, but jumping into social situations had never been my strong suit. Maybe that's why I'd spent actual weeks teaching my dog Luna to do tricks—she was easier to talk to than most people at school.

Maya was already in the pool, laughing at something Tyler said. Tyler, whose parents owned this actual mansion with a pool and everything. Tyler, who was everything I wasn't: confident, athletic, probably had his future mapped out in color-coded spreadsheets.

"Hey!" Maya waved at me. "You coming in or what?"

I panicked. This wasn't part of the plan. The plan was subtle approach, meaningful conversation, maybe exchanging Snapchats. Instead I blurted out, "I was just, uh, warming up. Got to prevent cramps."

Tyler snorted. "Whatever, man. More pizza for us."

Then it happened. Lightning split the sky—actually cracked it open like an egg—turning everything purple-white for a second. The pool lights flickered. Someone screamed playfully, and in that moment of chaos, Maya swam over to the edge right where I was standing.

"Hey," she said, water streaming down her face. "You know Tyler's dog ate half the pepperoni pizzas earlier?"

I blinked. "Seriously?"

"Seriously." She grinned. "So if you were waiting for pizza, you might be out of luck. Unless you want to join us back here?"

Something shifted. Maybe it was the lightning still buzzing in my brain, or the way Maya's eyes actually seemed to see me, not past me. I dropped my towel on one of the deck chairs and slid into the pool.

The water was perfect—not too cold, not too warm. Maya was still watching me, expectant.

"My dog once ate an entire birthday cake," I heard myself say. "Like, the whole thing. Plates and all."

Maya laughed, and it wasn't fake or polite. It was real. "No way."

"Way." I swam a little closer. "We found frosting on her ears for days."

"Okay, but that's actually iconic." She splashed me. A tiny splash. Testing the waters.

I splashed back.

By the time the storm broke and everyone moved inside for board games and more pizza (Tyler's mom had apparently ordered backup), Maya and I had established that dogs were chaos agents, swimming at night was basically therapeutic, and that we both hated our biology teacher's obsession with punnett squares.

As I helped her dry off on the deck, hands awkward with a borrowed towel, she said, "You know, you're actually pretty cool. I was wondering when you'd finally talk to me."

I nearly stopped breathing. "You were waiting for me?"

Maya shrugged, but she was smiling. "I've seen you in class. You always look like you're thinking about something important. And you drew that really sick doodle of a dragon last week."

"You saw that?"

"I see lots of things." She bumped my shoulder with hers. "Anyway, we should definitely study for the bio test together. Maybe bring your dog?"

Outside, more lightning flashed. But for once, I wasn't afraid of the storm. I was too busy feeling like I'd finally found my current.