Five Percent and Goldfish Crumbs

Maya's iPhone flashed 5% battery. Of course. The exact moment Jake finally looked her way across Tyler's backyard, and her phone was basically a paperweight.

"You good?" Jake asked, suddenly standing way too close. His eyes were the exact color of the orange sunset behind him, which was unfair, honestly.

"Yeah, just... dying over here," Maya said, then immediately wanted to melt into the patio floor. "My phone. Not me. Obviously."

Jake laughed. A real one. "I have a cable inside. My sister's always forgetting hers."

They walked through the sliding glass door together, and Maya tried to play it cool even though her heart was doing that thing where it forgets how to rhythm. Inside, someone had spilled a bag of cheddar goldfish all over the kitchen island. Jake swept a handful into his palm and offered them to her like they were at some fancy cocktail party, not a sophomore year gathering that smelled like cheap body spray and desperation.

"So," he said, crunching. "You're in AP Bio, right?"

Maya nodded, still processing that Jake from third-period English knew she existed. "Yeah, but I'm probably gonna drop it. My grade is... not it."

"I could help," he said casually, like he wasn't offering to spend time with her. "If you want."

He found a charger tangled in a drawer behind like three old takeout menus. As Maya plugged in her phone, she caught her reflection in the microwave door – frizzy hair from the humidity, a smear of goldfish dust on her chin, zero chill. But Jake was still there, leaning against the counter like he had nowhere better to be.

Her phone lit up: 6%.

"I'd like that," Maya said, and realized she meant it. "The help. With bio."

"Cool," Jake grinned. "Tomorrow? Library?"

"Tomorrow works."

Maya walked back outside with her phone charging in her pocket, Jake beside her, and thought maybe sometimes low battery moments weren't emergencies after all. Sometimes they were just beginnings.