Lightning in a Dead Signal

Maya lay in bed, thumb hovering over the Instagram search bar like she was defusing a bomb. Outside, another flash of lightning turned her purple LED strips momentarily white. She was doing it again—being a total creep, basically.

Three hours ago, at Jordan's party, she'd managed to swipe his phone long enough to memorize his username. Now here she was, stalking his feed like some amateur spy, which was pathetic on multiple levels. First, because she was sixteen and should've been confident enough to just talk to him. Second, because his last post was from 2019 and featured a dog filter that should've been illegal.

Another crack of thunder shook the windowframe. Her iphone dinged—Layla: 'did he look at u??'

Maya typed: 'no im over it'

She wasn't over it. She was halfway through his tagged photos when lightning struck so close the power flickered. Her phone died instantly, leaving her alone in the darkness with nothing but her own cringe-level behavior to reflect on.

That's when it hit her—she'd spent the entire night obsessing over a guy who'd worn a fedora to a house party. She was out here playing FBI agent on his social media while he was probably somewhere making jokes about how he needed to 'find himself' on a gap year that wouldn't start until college.

Her phone slowly powered back on. 3% battery.

She opened Instagram and blocked him. Not out of bitterness—okay, maybe a little—but mostly because she was done being the person who monitored someone's online presence like it was a job that paid in exposure.

The storm was moving east now, the lightning flashes growing distant. She texted Layla back: 'actually no im done w that. u down to watch that horror movie??'

Yeah. Yeah she was. Because at sixteen, the real plot twist wasn't some boy finally noticing her—it was realizing she'd been the main character all along, just too busy watching everyone else's highlights to notice her own life was actually pretty solid.