Lightning at the Net

Marcus hadn't meant to go viral. But the video of him face-planting during the championship match—the ball soaring untouched as he ate the blue padel court at mach speed—had somehow become his school's meme of the week.

"Bro, you're literally legendary now," Jay said, sitting backward on his desk chair. "Even Mrs. Henderson showed me the TikTok."

Marcus chucked a crumpled math test at him. "So glad my humiliation brought joy to everyone. Including our teachers."

"Friend." Jay grinned. "I'm literally your best friend. I'm supposed to laugh."

Yeah. Best friend. The word hit weird lately, ever since Jay had started hanging with the popular crowd—the ones who sat at the back of the cafeteria in their little social pyramid, like some high school caste system. Jay insisted nothing had changed, but Marcus noticed the little things. Jay's texts were shorter. He'd bail on their regular Friday padel sessions. He'd started saying "literally" every five seconds, which wasn't like him at all.

"You coming to the courts later?" Marcus asked, not meeting Jay's eyes. "Chris can't make it, so I need a partner."

Jay hesitated. Just a split second, but Marcus caught it. "Actually, Sarah invited me to—"

"Whatever. Don't worry about it."

"No, I'll—"

"It's fine, Jay. Really." Marcus stood up. "I'll just ask my dad. He's literally terrible but he's available."

The sarcasm landed. Jay flinched.

Outside, thunder rumbled. Another summer storm rolling in off the lake.

"Marcus, wait—"

"Save it."

Marcus grabbed his backpack and headed for the door. He was halfway down the hallway when his phone buzzed. Jay had sent something—a TikTok. Marcus rolled his eyes and tapped it.

It was THEM. Last year, some random weekend when Jay's phone had died, so they'd recorded a stupid padel rally that had gone on for like five minutes. Both sweaty, both laughing like idiots, Marcus eventually missing the easiest shot ever because he was laughing so hard. The caption read: *this is what happens when you actually give a shit about your friends*

Marcus stared at it. Then again.

Outside, a lightning bolt cracked the sky—so bright it flashed through the hallway windows, purple-white and blinding. The thunder followed instantly, shaking the floor under his sneakers.

His phone buzzed again. *I'm an idiot. I'll be at the courts at 5. Don't suck without me.*

Marcus stood there for a second, the storm smell coming through the open windows—rain and ozone and August. Then he typed back: *Bring your worst.*

"Bro." Marcus turned around. Jay was standing in the doorway, grinning. "You're not actually playing your dad, right? Old man's got no hustle."