Lightning in the Cat's Eyes

Marcus felt like a total spy at his own school. Not the cool, James Bond kind — more like the awkward kid who'd mastered the art of blending into lockers while eavesdropping on conversations he'd never be part of. He had different playlists for different friend groups, different laughs, different versions of himself stashed like weapons in a backpack that weighed nothing but carried everything.

The only one who knew the real Marcus was Barnaby — his chunky, orange tabby cat who spent approximately 23.5 hours per day judging Marcus from various surfaces. Barnaby had seen him cry over college rejection emails. Barnaby had watched him practice asking his crush to prom until his voice cracked like a nervous amateur. Barnaby knew.

"You're the only one who gets it," Marcus told him, scratching that spot behind his ears that made Barnaby's motor start. "Everyone else is playing the game, but you? You're just existing. Radical authenticity, man."

Barnaby blinked slowly and continued grooming his paw like Marcus hadn't just poured his heart out.

The lightning storm started during third period. Marcus's phone buzzed — group chat exploding with plans for the weekend, inside jokes he pretended to understand, reactions to a party he'd never actually go to. He typed a single laugh emoji and deleted it three times before sending. That's when the power cut. Lightning flashed outside the window, bright as a camera catching him unaware.

Then his phone lit up again with a message from Sarah, the girl whose locker was two down from his, the one he'd been watching for months without ever saying more than hey.

"Your cat's judging me from your Instagram posts," she wrote. "He has better taste than any of us."

Marcus stared at his screen, heart doing something weird and electric. Another flash of lightning illuminated his room, and in that split second, Barnaby's eyes glowed like he'd known this was coming all along.

"He's extremely discerning," Marcus typed back, and for the first time in forever, it wasn't a performance.