Lightning in a Bottle

Maya's phone buzzed for the third time in five minutes. The group chat was blowing up—everyone was at Jake's house, watching the big game on his 65-inch with the supposedly broken **cable** connection that somehow still worked perfectly for Madden.

"You coming?" Brianna texted. "Matt's here."

Maya stared at her ceiling. Matt. The same Matt who'd accidentally called her "dude" yesterday when she finally worked up the courage to say hey in the hallway. The same Matt who made her stomach do that weird **lightning**-storm thing that definitely meant she was catching feelings way too hard, way too fast.

She'd been **running** from her own crush for weeks now. Literally running, actually—that's why she'd joined track. Freshman year, no experience, just needed somewhere to put all this nervous energy that had been building up since middle school. Her coach called her a natural, but really she was just motivated.

"Coach says I've got good form," she'd told her mom proudly last week.

"You're like a **bull** in a china shop out there, honey," her mom had replied, completely missing the point. "All power, no grace. But hey, at least you're fast."

Her phone buzzed again. A photo from Brianna: Matt, sitting alone on Jake's couch, looking around like he was waiting for someone. The caption: "He keeps asking if you're coming."

Maya's heart did that thing again. Maybe tonight was the night she stopped running from everything. Maybe tonight she'd actually show up and say something normal to him. Something cool.

She grabbed her hoodie and headed out the door, already knowing she was probably about to embarrass herself. But that's what high school was for, right?

Besides, she could always literally run away tomorrow at practice if things went sideways.