Electric in the Kitchen

The bass from Maya's living room was already giving me a headache. I'd been standing in the same spot for twenty minutes, nursing a warm soda, watching everyone else seem to know exactly what to do with their hands. My best friend Priya had disappeared into the crowd forty minutes ago with some junior I didn't recognize.

"You look like you're mentally calculating your exit strategy," a voice said beside me. I jumped—okay, flinched—and found myself staring at Quinn, the sophomore who sat behind me in English. The one with the annoying habit of kicking my chair when he got bored.

"That obvious?" I admitted, feeling my face heat up.

"Only because I'm doing the same thing," he said, leaning against the wall. "These things are basically just performance art anyway. Everyone pretending to be having the time of their lives."

I laughed, surprised. "So what's your strategy?"

"Kitchen," Quinn said, gesturing toward the back of the house. "Maya's mom ordered like five pizzas. Less people, more food, zero pressure to dance."

We ended up sitting on the back porch steps, sharing a pepperoni slice and talking about nothing and everything. The night air had turned cool, and somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbled.

"My dog hates storms," Quinn said out of nowhere. "Max—he's this enormous Golden Retriever that thinks he's a lap dog. Started freaking out an hour before I left."

"My cat's the opposite," I said. "She sleeps right through them like she's personally unimpressed by nature."

A sudden flash of lightning illuminated the backyard, and for a split second, I saw something move near the fence line. A fox, its coat glowing in the brief light, watching us with curious eyes.

"Did you see that?" I breathed.

"The fox?" Quinn's face lit up. "Dude, that's actually sick. My neighborhood has, like, three raccoons and a lot of disappointment. You get foxes?"

"First time I've seen one here," I said, watching as the fox slipped away into the darkness. "Pretty awesome though."

"Random night," Quinn said, turning to look at me. Another flash of lightning, closer this time, and suddenly his expression shifted. "Hey, I've been meaning to ask—do you want to maybe hang out sometime? Outside of English class and accidental parties?"

I felt it—the lightning strike, right in my chest. The good kind.

"Yeah," I said, and I could feel myself smiling like an idiot. "I'd like that."

The storm broke just as we went back inside, rain pelting against the windows, the bass still thumping, everything different now and exactly the same. Just with a fox, a dog story I wanted to hear, and the kind of lightning that changes everything.