Lightning in the Chlorine

I was officially the worst spy ever. Hiding behind the concession stand at Tyler's pool party, I'd spent forty minutes staring at the baseball team's captain like he was the last slice of pizza at a sleepover.

Then I noticed it: a piece of spinach wedged between my front teeth, visible from space. Of course. The one time I finally looked cute in a swimsuit, and I was walking around with salad in my smile like some kind of vegetable mascot.

"You gonna come out or keep lurking like a creep?"

I jumped so hard I almost knocked over a bag of chips. Maya, Tyler's sister, leaned against the fence, grinning. "Also, you have something in your teeth."

My face burned hotter than the asphalt in July. I fished out the spinach with my tongue while Maya laughed.

"I'm not lurking," I said, though I definitely was. "I'm just... observing."

"Observing Jake staring at his phone like it holds the meaning of life?" She raised an eyebrow. "Bro's been checking his score every five minutes. The baseball game ended three hours ago, Leah."

Outside the pool fence, the sky turned that weird yellow-green color that means trouble. Lightning cracked across the horizon, close enough that the hair on my arms stood up.

"Everyone out! Now!" Tyler's dad shouted from the back door.

We scrambled toward the house, and suddenly Jake was there, holding the sliding glass door open. His hair was wet from the pool, his jersey clinging to his shoulders in ways that made my brain short-circuit.

"Thanks," I mumbled, brushing past him.

"Hey," he said, catching my arm. "Your phone screen lit up earlier when you were hiding. Saw your lock screen." He grinned. "Nice taste in music."

I blinked. Then: lightning struck the transformer down the street, and the whole neighborhood went dark.

In that moment, suspended in the pitch-black kitchen with rain hammering the roof and Jake's hand still on my arm, I realized something: I hadn't been observing Jake. I'd been waiting for him to notice me observing him.

"Leah?" he said in the dark. "You still there?"

I laughed, and it was the most real sound I'd made all night. "Yeah. I'm here."

Sometimes it takes a blackout—and a little spinach—to finally show up.