Lightning at the Lock-In

The gym looked ridiculous. Someone—probably student council president Jessica—had decided this year's lock-in theme should be "Ancient Mysteries," which translated to cardboard pyramids in every corner and a papier-mâché sphinx that looked like it had seen better centuries.

"Dude, this is actual cringe," Marcus whispered, bumping my shoulder as we walked in. He was already live-streaming to his story. "Look at this. I'm literally at the most mid event of all time."

I laughed, but my stomach was doing that thing it always did in crowds—like I was underwater, swimming toward the surface but not sure which way was up. Social anxiety was fun like that.

Then I saw her.

Maya was standing by the refreshment table, which someone had decorated to look like an archaeological dig site. She was wearing these boots with little pyramid studs on them, and I swear my heart actually skipped a beat. Not in a cheesy way. In a terrifying way.

Marcus caught me looking. "Bro. Just talk to her. You've been lowkey obsessed since freshman year."

"I'm not obsessed," I protested, but I was already sweating. "She's just... interesting."

"Interesting? She literally drew a sphinx on her backpack in metallic sharpie. She's the most interesting person here." Marcus shoved me forward. "Go. Before I do it for you."

I walked toward her, my heart pounding like I'd just finished a race. I was swimming through metaphorical molasses. Why was this so hard? We'd had history together last year. We'd talked about Hammurabi's Code. That had to count as something, right?

"Hey," I said. Smooth. Definitely smooth.

She looked up, and something strange happened. Her eyes widened, just slightly. Like she was surprised to see me.

"Hey!" she said back. Too enthusiastic? Or just enthusiastic enough? I couldn't tell.

Then the DJ started playing that song everyone had been obsessed with two months ago, and people screamed, and someone yelled that there was lightning outside, everyone should come look, and suddenly we were both at the windows watching actual lightning crack across the sky like the universe was putting on a show just for this lock-in.

"This is actually sick," Maya said, her shoulder pressed against mine. Not intentionally. Just the crowd. But still.

"Yeah," I managed. "Better than the cardboard pyramids."

She laughed. It was this real, unpolished sound. "Way better. Hey, did you know the Great Pyramid has "

And then we were talking. About pyramids and ancient Egypt and how she'd been obsessed since she was seven, and how I'd almost failed that history project but pulled it together because I'd stayed up all night reading extra credit material.

"You did that for extra credit?" she asked, like I'd just revealed something incredibly endearing.

"I mean, yeah, but also it was actually kind of interesting?"

She smiled at me. Really smiled. And for the first time all night, I wasn't swimming anymore. I was just standing there, with lightning flashing outside, talking about pyramids with the girl who'd drawn a sphinx on her backpack.

Sometimes the universe doesn't give you grand gestures. Sometimes it just gives you cardboard decorations and a storm and someone who thinks your weird history facts are actually cool.

That was enough.