Lightning in My Palm

The humidity in Maya's backyard was thick enough to choke on. I wiped my sweating **palm** against my shorts—again—and tried to look casual about being the only one not swimming. Everyone else was in the pool, shrieking and splashing like it wasn't approximately 900 degrees out.

"You coming in?" Tyler asked, grinning from the deep end. Of course Tyler looked good. Tyler always looked good, even when his hair was plastered to his forehead like a wet golden retriever.

"In a minute," I lied, smoothing my shirt for the fiftieth time.

I'd been acting **spy**-level sneaky all summer, hovering at the edge of things, watching Tyler from behind metaphorical sunglasses like a character in a movie who's too afraid to actually participate. Pathetic, honestly.

Maya's mom appeared with fruit platters. I grabbed a slice of **papaya** because it felt like something that would make me look interesting and sophisticated, not like someone who'd spent three months developing a crush in silence. It tasted like sweet nothing. I could feel Tyler watching me and my face burned hotter than the sun.

"That's **bull**, you know," someone shouted from the pool.

"What?" I jumped, practically choking on my sophisticated fruit.

"Tyler said he can do a backflip off the diving board. That's **bull**."

Tyler shrugged. "Wanna bet?"

Everyone gathered around the pool, expectations building. This was it. The moment. Tyler climbed onto the diving board, sunlight glinting off his shoulders, and the backyard went quiet. He jumped, tucked, and—SPLOSH. A perfect backflip. A perfect, smug, amazing backflip.

Then came the **lightning**.

Real lightning, crack-white across the sky, thunder rolling through the humid air like the sky was dropping the bass. The storm broke, rain turning the backyard into chaos, everyone screaming and scrambling for the patio.

I ended up squished under the umbrella with Tyler, both of us soaked and laughing at how ridiculous this whole day was.

"You never came in the pool," he said, shoulder against mine.

"Next time," I heard myself say. "Definitely next time."

My **palm** didn't feel sweaty anymore. Just electric.