Goldfish in the Lightning

The cable cut out right as Maya was about to confess everything to Kai. Because of course it did. That's just how her life worked—timing so terrible it felt like the universe was trolling her.

"Dude, your wifi is straight-up ghosting us," Kai said, tossing his phone onto her neon-orange beanbag chair. The room smelled like citrus air freshener and teenage awkwardness.

Maya's palms were sweating. She'd spent three weeks working up to this moment—three weeks of watching Kai make the same stupid joke about goldfish having three-second memories, three weeks of him walking her to biology even though his locker was literally on the opposite side of school. Three weeks of her stomach doing that embarrassing flippy thing every time he laughed at something she said.

Outside, lightning cracked the sky open. The power flickered.

"Classic," Kai groaned. "Now what are we supposed to do? Actually talk?"

Maya's heart hammered against her ribs. This was it. The universe literally removing all distractions. She took a breath that felt too shallow.

"Kai, I—"

"Wait." He held up a hand. "You hear that?"

They both went silent. Through the rain, they could hear something splashing.

"Is that... a fish?" Maya whispered.

They sprinted downstairs to find her little brother's goldfish bowl overturned on the living room floor, glittering water spreading across the hardwood like liquid mercury. The goldfish—named Captain Finbeard, because seven-year-olds had zero creativity—was flopping beside the overturned bowl, gasping.

"Oh my god, grab him!" Maya shouted, but Kai was already moving, scooping Captain Finbeard into his cupped hands and dumping him back in the bowl. Water sloshed everywhere.

They stood there, dripping, chests heaving, as lightning flashed again through the window, illuminating Kai's hair standing up in crazy spikes, Maya's mascara running down her face, the fish bowl between them like some weird altar.

Kai started laughing. Not his usual fake laugh. Real laugh.

"We just literally saved a fish's life," he said. "That's the most heroic thing either of us has ever done."

Maya started laughing too. And somehow, in that ridiculous moment with a traumatized goldfish between them, she grabbed his hand. His fingers squeezed back.

"Kai?"

"Yeah?"

"I like you. Like, really like you."

Captain Finbeard swam in frantic circles, probably mentally drafting a memoir about his near-death experience. Kai looked at Maya with this expression she'd never seen before—something soft and startled and real.

"Finally," he said. "I was literally about to explode."

The cable stayed out all night. They didn't even notice.