Electric Heart, Paper Pyramid

Maya stared at the cafeteria ceiling like it might reveal the secrets of the universe. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, threatening to give her a headache. Again.

"You're doing that thing," said Chloe, sliding into the seat across from her. "Where you look like you're solving quadratic equations in your head instead of just eating your vitamin D-deficient lunch."

Maya rolled her eyes. "I'm thinking about Jordan, okay? The lightning bolt incident from Friday."

"The incident where you literally ran into him and dropped your tray?" Chloe's grin was evil. "Smooth. Very mysterious girl energy."

"Shut up." Maya poked at her sad excuse for a salad. "It was a moment. A connection. His eyes—"

"—are probably brown like everyone else's. Listen, I love you, but you've built this whole pyramid in your head where Jordan is at the top looking down at you like some Egyptian goddess when in reality he's just a guy in AP Bio who probably thinks about video games and his hair gel."

Maya's phone buzzed. Jordan.

"OMG," Chloe whisper-shrieked. "What's it say?"

Maya's hands shook as she unlocked her phone. "Hey, about Friday—I felt bad about your tray. Want to get coffee later? My treat."

Maya looked up, eyes wide. Chloe grabbed her phone, read it, and actually squealed. "This is IT. This is the moment. Okay, listen to me: don't overthink it. Don't build it into this whole thing. Just say yes. Be cool. Be like—"

"Like I'm not freaking out?"

"Exactly." Chloe slid the phone back. "And maybe change that shirt. Just saying."

Outside, thunder rumbled. A storm was coming.

At home, Maya's dog Barnaby met her at the door with his usual enthusiasm, nearly tripping her as she dropped her backpack. Her mom was in the kitchen, sorting supplements on the counter.

"Honey, did you take your vitamins? You've been looking tired."

"Yes, Mom. I'm good." Maya grabbed an apple. "I might go out later. With Jordan."

Her mom turned, eyes wide. "Jordan from math class? The one you've been talking about for three months?"

"I have NOT been talking about him for three months."

"You absolutely have." Her mom smiled. "That's wonderful, sweetie. Just remember—you don't have to perform for anyone. The right people will like you for you."

Maya rolled her eyes but felt a warmth in her chest anyway.

At the coffee shop, Jordan was already there, wearing a hoodie that had definitely seen better days. He smiled when he saw her, and Maya felt something like lightning strike all over again.

"Hey," he said. "Thanks for coming."

They talked for two hours. About AP Bio (hard), about his dog (a chaotic golden retriever named Pickles), about how much they both hated the cafeteria food. It was easy. It was natural.

When they walked out, the storm had broken. Rain poured down, and they ran for it, laughing, dodging puddles.

"This is the worst idea," Maya yelled over the thunder.

"Best idea," Jordan countered, grabbing her hand to pull her toward shelter.

Under the overhang of a closed storefront, soaked and shivering, Jordan looked at her and said, "I'm really glad you dropped that tray on Friday."

Maya laughed so hard she snorted. "You too."

The social pyramid could wait. The awkward moments could wait. Right now, she was just a girl with rain in her hair, standing next to a boy who made her laugh, and that was enough.