Lightning in Her Palm

Maya's mom called it her party hat—that oversized black beanie she refused to take off, even in July. But Maya called it her shield. Underneath, her hair was a frizzy catastrophe she hadn't figured out how to tame since she'd chopped it all off in eighth grade. Bad idea. Worse grow-out.

The party was already lit when she arrived—twenty sweaty teenagers packed into Jordan's basement, someone's older brother bumping Drake at ear-bleeding volume. Maya's palm was already sweating against her Solo cup. Why did she come? She hated this stuff.

Then she saw the cat.

A scrawny tabby had slipped in through the back door, now perched on the washing machine like it owned the place. Maya drifted toward it, leaving her hat on because her hair was basically a crime scene.

"That's Ghost," a voice said. Jordan. The host. The guy she'd been lowkey crushing on since algebra. "My sister's cat. She's antisocial as hell."

"Same," Maya said, then immediately wanted to die.

But Jordan laughed. Not mean-laughed. Like, actually laughed. "Wanna see something cool?"

He pulled a lightning charging cable from his pocket. No, not that kind. The real deal—old school, from his phone. He held it up and static electricity made the tiny blue light flicker.

"Physics final blew everyone's mind but mine," he said, shrugging. "I give killer lessons."

Outside, actual lightning cracked the sky, illuminating the basement through the narrow window. The power died. Total darkness. Someone screamed. Maya felt something brush her ankle—Ghost, calm as anything.

Then Jordan's hand found hers in the dark. His palm against hers. And for once, Maya's hair didn't matter. Her hat didn't matter. The static between them wasn't from any charging cable.

"First party ever where I haven't wanted to bail," she admitted when the lights flickered back on.

Jordan smiled. "Same."

Ghost jumped down and trotted out like she'd orchestrated the whole thing. Maya pulled off her hat. Her hair was still a mess. Whatever. She kept it off.