Lightning in a Fruit Bowl

Maya's snapback was pulled low, hiding the disaster zone that was her eyebrows. She'd gone overboard with the tweezers last night, panic-plucking because Jason might actually notice her today. Now she looked perpetually surprised, which was honestly fitting considering her current situation.

She was at Alex's house party—more like ten awkward sophomores hovering near a fruit bowl—and her iPhone kept buzzing with texts from her best friend demanding status updates. Jason was across the room, leaning against the kitchen counter like he owned it, which was annoying and also exactly why she was here.

"You gonna actually talk to him, or just vibe from a distance?" Alex appeared beside her, holding a suspicious-looking cup. "Try this. My mom's experimental punch."

Maya eyed the pink concoction. "What's in it?"

"Papaya, coconut water, and something that might be ginger?" Alex shrugged. "Live a little."

Maya took a sip, made a face, and immediately choked. Alex cracked up while Maya tried not to spray papaya everywhere. That's when the thunder hit—BOOM—so loud the picture frames rattled.

Lightning flashed through the windows, turning everything stark white for a second. The power went out. Complete darkness, except for the blue glow of everyone's phones.

"Everyone okay?" Jason's voice from the kitchen.

Maya's heart did that annoying flutter thing. She couldn't see him but she could hear him moving, could picture his concerned expression perfectly because she'd spent way too much time imagining it.

"I got flashlights," someone said. Then, "Maya? You good?"

She froze. Jason was talking to her. In the dark. At a random party. While she was recovering from a papaya-induced coughing fit.

"Yeah," she managed. "Just died from that punch. It's fine."

He laughed. Thank god for the darkness—her face was on fire. "Alex's mom makes dangerous stuff. Here." A flashlight beam cut through the darkness, illuminating Jason's stupid perfect face as he handed her a water bottle. His eyes landed on her hat. "You ever take that off?"

Maya's stomach dropped. "Sometimes."

"Liar." He grinned, and then—casual, like he did this every day—reached out and tipped her snapback back.

Her eyebrows. He saw them.

"Overplucking situation?" he asked, not mean. Just... knowing.

"Don't even," Maya groaned, pulling the hat back down. "It's a cry for help."

"My sister did the same thing last month," Jason said. "She looked like a perpetually surprised squirrel for two weeks."

Maya laughed before she could stop herself. "Thanks. That's the vibe I'm going for."

"It works." His phone buzzed. He checked it, then looked back at her. "You know, this would be more romantic if we weren't standing next to a bowl of fruit that's definitely going to attract bugs."

The word romantic hung there, suspended in the darkness between them.

"The papaya adds atmosphere," Maya said, because saying something real was terrifying.

Jason's smile was visible even in the flashlight's fading beam. "Definitely. Next time? I'll brave the papaya with you."

Next time.

Maya's phone buzzed in her pocket. Her best friend again: '???'

She'd reply later. For now, she adjusted her hat, took another sip of the terrible punch, and let herself hope that next time would actually happen.