Lightning in the Lunchroom

The **lightning** flashed outside the cafeteria windows, casting everyone's face in ghostly pale for a split second. Perfect timing, honestly. The universe clearly wanted to dramatize my humiliation.

I was sitting directly across from Tyler, who was currently eating his sandwich with maddening casualness. Meanwhile, I had spent the last twenty minutes trying to dislodge a massive piece of **spinach** from my braces using only my tongue and subtle lip movements. My orthodontist had sworn I'd get used to these train tracks. Spoiler: I hadn't.

"You good, Maya?" Tyler asked. "You're acting weird."

Weird. The word hit like a physical blow. Because the truth was, I'd been **running** from the obvious for weeks now — sneaking glances at him during history, lying awake at 2 AM overanalyzing our text conversations, basically channeling my inner romance novel protagonist. But unlike the books, there was no guarantee of a happily ever after. Just infinite opportunities to look like a complete idiot.

The worst part? Last Friday, I'd literally **spy**-ed on his Instagram story at 3 AM (who posts at 3 AM? WHY?) and then accidentally liked it from 2019 while deep-scrolling. The mortification still kept me up at night.

"Yeah, totally good," I said. Smooth. Award-winning delivery.

My phone buzzed. My little brother, apparently sensing my moment of crisis, had sent a photo of his **goldfish**, which was now swimming sideways and looking decidedly not alive. The caption read: "is this normal??"

That was it. That was the breaking point.

"My fish is dying," I burst out, waving my phone at Tyler. "I have to go."

"Wait—" he started, but I was already grabbing my tray.

"Maya," he said, catching my wrist. His touch was electric in a way that had nothing to do with the storm outside. "You have something in your teeth."

The spinach. The actual spinach had been there the ENTIRE TIME.

"I know," I said, meeting his eyes. "I was trying to be subtle about it."

He laughed. Like, really laughed. And in that moment, with thunder rumbling overhead and my face burning hotter than the sun, I realized something: being seen — even at your most awkward — was infinitely better than being invisible.

"Want to get froyo after school?" he asked. "My treat. No spinach allowed."

"I'd like that," I said, finally letting myself smile. "Really."

The lightning flashed again. This time, I didn't look away.