Lightning in Orange Sneakers

Maya's lungs burned like she'd swallowed fire. She'd been running laps around the track for twenty minutes straight, trying out for the cross-country team even though her legs felt like jelly and her brand-new orange Nikes were already killing her feet. The shoes had seemed like such a good idea at the store—bright, confident, impossible to ignore. Now they felt like neon signs broadcasting her insecurity to everyone watching.

'You got this, Maya!' called out Leo from the sidelines, which only made it worse because Leo was gorgeous and popular and definitely not watching her struggle through this.

Her mom had packed her a 'victory lunch' for afterward: a spinach smoothie that had somehow turned into a warm, sludgy disaster in her backpack. The thought of it made her stomach turn, but the thought of Leo watching her fail made her push harder, her feet pounding the rubber track in a rhythm that felt almost like prayer.

Then it happened—a flash of lightning split the sky despite the sunny weather, or maybe that was just the weird sparkly thing that happened when you pushed your body past what it thought it could do. Maya's vision blurred at the edges, white and electric, and suddenly she wasn't thinking about orange shoes or Leo or her stupid backpack leaking spinach sludge everywhere. She was just running, her body a machine, her mind clear as glass.

She crossed the finish line and collapsed onto the grass, everything spinning. Leo appeared above her, blocking out the sun with his stupid perfect face.

'Dude,' he said, grinning. 'That last lap? You were flying.' He held out a hand, and Maya took it, her orange sneakers scuffing against the grass as she stood up.

Later, she'd discover the spinach smoothie had exploded all over her extra clothes, turning everything into a swampy green mess. But for now, with lightning still flashing at the edges of her vision and Leo actually talking to her, Maya thought maybe this whole trying-new-things thing wasn't so bad after all.