Lightning at Larson's Pool

Maya's mom handed her the bright orange **vitamin** gummy in the kitchen doorway, like it was some kind of pre-party ritual. "For your skin, honey. You said you wanted to try something new before the pool party."

Maya almost died right there. Because seriously, what 15-year-old needs her mom handing her skin gummies like she's still in elementary school? She shoved them in her pocket anyway, feeling the crinkle of the bottle through her oversized cover-up.

The Larson's pool party was already popping when she arrived. People everywhere, music bumping, half the sophomore class already in the water looking all chill and effortless. Meanwhile Maya stood by the fence having a full internal debate about whether to take off her cover-up at all.

Then she saw it — a scraggly stray **cat** crouched under the Larson's porch, watching everyone with this judgmental look like *you all look ridiculous.*

"Hey kitty," Maya whispered, crouching down. The cat bolted toward the pool, dodging between legs, and suddenly everyone was screaming and laughing and someone's younger brother was chasing it with a pool noodle and it was CHAOS but also somehow the best thing that happened all night.

Then the sky opened up. Not just rain — actual **lightning** cracking across the sky like something out of a movie. The whole party scrambled inside, wet towels and canceled DJ set and everyone crowded into the Larson's basement laughing about how random this whole night was.

And somewhere between the cat chaos and the lightning storm and everyone squeezed together checking phone weather apps, Maya realized something important: nobody was actually looking at her cover-up. They were too busy living in this moment.

She took off her cover-up in the Larson's bathroom mirror and actually smiled at her reflection. Whatever. She was here, she was present, and sometimes that was enough.

Plus the cat was still somewhere in the neighborhood living its best life, and honestly? Same.