Lightning Cracks the Screen

Maya's palms were sweating as she clutched her iphone, watching the party unfold around the bonfire. At fifteen, she felt like she was always on the outside looking in, while everyone else seemed to have mastered the social script she couldn't read.

"Hey, you want some?" Jake waved a tray of stuffed spinach leaves in her direction. He was the kind of guy who made everything look effortless—sun-bleached hair, easy smile, the way he leaned against palm trees like they were put there just for him.

Maya reached for one, determined to play it cool. But in that moment, her phone buzzed with a text from her mom asking if she'd remembered to feed her childhood stuffed bear back home. The sheer embarrassment of being reminded of Mr. Whiskers while trying to impress Jake made her fumble. Spinach scattered everywhere like tiny green explosions.

Before she could die of humiliation, lightning cracked the sky open. Not the distant kind—this was right overhead, illuminating everything in harsh white strokes. The party screamed and scattered as rain began to fall in sheets.

Jake grabbed her hand. "Come on! My dad's car is over there!" They ran through the downpour, palm fronds whipping wildly, thunder shaking the ground beneath their sneakers.

Huddled under the shelter of his car's open door, soaked and breathless, Maya discovered her iphone screen was completely shattered from where she'd gripped it too hard in the chaos.

"My mom is gonna kill me," she groaned, staring at the spiderweb cracks.

Jake laughed, actually laughed, and suddenly it didn't matter that spinach was still stuck to her shirt or that her phone was broken or that she had a stuffed bear waiting at home. Lightning flashed again, closer this time, and in that brief illumination, Jake looked at her like maybe—just maybe—he thought she was interesting.

"So," he said, as thunder rolled across the beach. "About that bear..."