Lightning Strike at Miller's Pool

I felt like a **zombie** walking into Tyler's backyard party. Three days of finals, zero sleep, and now this—a social minefield where one wrong move could explode my entire reputation. The **pool** glittered with underwater lights, transforming the water into something electric and inviting, but I stuck to the edges with my soda like a total wallflower.

Then I saw her.

Maya. Laughing with her friends by the deep end, looking like she belonged in a magazine instead of suburban Ohio. We'd been texting all week—late-night convos about everything and nothing—but in person? I froze.

"Hey!" Jake slapped my back, nearly making me spit my drink. "Did you hear about Brandon and Maya? They're supposedly back together."

"That's **bull**," I said, though my voice cracked. "Maya told me she was done with him."

Jake shrugged, already losing interest. "Whatever you say, man. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

I considered **running**. Literally just booking it out the side gate, ghosting the whole party, and texting Maya some lame excuse about family drama. The impulse burned in my chest like trapped air.

But then thunder cracked overhead, closer than before.

"Everyone out of the pool!" Tyler's mom shouted from the back door.

We scrambled for cover as the sky opened up. Rain transformed the deck into a slippery mess. People screamed and laughed, darting toward the garage. And then—FLASH.

A massive **lightning** bolt struck the old oak tree in the backyard. The boom shook the ground beneath my feet. The power died. Complete darkness swallowed everything.

"Everyone to the garage! NOW!"

In the chaos, I felt a hand grab mine. Warm. Familiar.

Maya.

"You okay?" she asked, pulling me toward the garage.

"Yeah," I managed, heart hammering. "You?"

"Better now," she said, squeezing my fingers tight.

In the garage, someone clicked on a flashlight. Another person started playing acoustic guitar. The party continued, smaller, cozier. The fake social hierarchy dissolved with the storm.

Maya leaned against the wall beside me, our knees touching. "Jake tell you that crap about Brandon?"

"He did."

"It's **bull**," she said, her voice serious. "Brandon and I are ancient history. I've been texting someone else all week."

My heart did something illegal. "Oh yeah? Who?"

She smiled, nudging my shoulder with hers. "Some cute guy who's terrible at flirting but really sweet. He thinks I don't notice him staring at me from across every room we're in."

Outside, the storm faded to distant grumbles. In that cramped garage, glowing in flashlight beams and makeshift fairy lights someone strung up, I finally felt like myself again—not a zombie, not a loser, not the guy who always stood on the edges.

Just a guy, maybe about to have his first real kiss.

**Lightning**, after all, can strike anywhere.