Lightning in the Parking Lot

The hat was stupid. A neon yellow beanie I'd bought on impulse because Maya said it looked indie, which apparently was good. Now I was stuck wearing it at Sarah's party, feeling like a highlighter in a room of people who actually knew how to be cool.

I'd been **running** from the truth all semester: that I didn't belong with these people anymore. They talked about college apps and GPAs like their lives depended on it, while I was busy failing pre-calc and pretending I wasn't terrified of the future.

My **iphone** buzzed in my pocket. Another text from my mom asking when I'd be home. I ignored it, like I'd been ignoring everything lately.

Then I saw Jordan across the room, and my stomach did that thing it always did. We'd been **friend**s since seventh grade, until everything got weird and complicated and neither of us knew how to talk about it. Now Jordan was looking at someone else — laughing, head tilted back, totally at ease.

That's when the first crack of **lightning** split the sky outside, illuminating the whole room in stark white. Someone screamed like it was a horror movie. The power flickered and died, plunging us into darkness.

"Nice hat," someone whispered in the dark. I couldn't tell if they were being sarcastic.

My face burned. I bolted for the back door, needing air, needing space, needing to not be the person in the ridiculous beanie who couldn't even talk to their oldest friend anymore.

The rain was pouring down, cold and real and better than the fake atmosphere inside. I ripped off the hat and let the rain plaster my hair to my forehead. Who was I trying to impress? Who was I trying to be?

"You forgot this."

I spun around. Jordan stood in the doorway, holding my stupid yellow hat, looking unfairly good even in the dim light.

"I hate it," I said.

Jordan shrugged. "I always liked it. Made you stand out."

The silence stretched between us, full of everything we weren't saying. Another flash of lightning. In that moment, I saw something in Jordan's face — something nervous, something hopeful.

"I've been meaning to text you," Jordan said quietly. "But I didn't know what to say."

My heart was doing that thing again, but different this time. "Me too."

Jordan stepped closer, into the rain, and handed me the hat. Our fingers brushed, and I felt something electric that had nothing to do with the storm.

"So," Jordan said. "Want to get out of here?"

I pulled the wet hat back on, neon yellow and ridiculous and perfect. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."