Lightning in a Bottle

Maya's phone buzzed in her palm, another Instagram story from the party she was currently standing in the corner of. Great. Even her iPhone was judging her for being lame.

"You look like a zombie," her best friend Priya shouted over the bass, handing her a Solo cup. "Dance. Live a little."

Maya took a tiny sip, grimacing. "I'm literally living on three hours of sleep and existential dread. This is my peak."

Then she saw him. Ethan. The guy she'd been lowkey stalking since August. He was by the balcony doors, looking as miserable as she felt. Her heart did that annoying thing where it forgot how to work.

"Go talk to him," Priya pushed. "What's the worst that happens?"

"He laughs in my face? I die? The usual?"

"You'll never know unless you—"

CRACK. Lightning struck somewhere close, the whole house shaking. The music cut. People screamed. In the chaos, someone knocked into Maya, sending her iPhone flying across the floor.

She was already running after it because apparently her dignity wasn't the only thing shatterable tonight. She reached for it at the same time as someone else.

Ethan.

"I got it," he said, handing it over. Their fingers brushed. Her palm was sweaty. His palm was steady. This was fine. Everything was fine. She was not spiraling.

"Thanks," she managed. "Cool party. Very atmospheric."

Ethan laughed, and it was better than the bass-heavy remix that had been blasting. "I was literally just thinking about how I'd rather be literally anywhere else. These things are exhausting."

"Same. I've been hiding in the corner for forty-five minutes."

"Solid strategy." He nodded toward the balcony. "Wanna hide together instead?"

Outside, the rain poured down, and another flash of lightning illuminated everything in stark, beautiful white. They talked for an hour—about video games, about how high school felt like a four-year performance piece, about how they both felt like zombies trying to pass as functional humans.

When Priya found them, Maya's phone was dead, her hair was frizzy from humidity, and she'd missed seventy-three Snapchat stories.

She'd never had a better night in her entire life.