Lightning Strike on Channel 4
I wasn't supposed to be watching the Miller's cable. Technically, I was supposed to be cleaning their pool, but when the thunderstorm rolled in, I ducked into their screened porch and their giant TV was already on. The Millers were the kind of rich where they left things running.
Outside, lightning crackled across the sky like broken promise lines. My phone buzzed — mom asking if I'd gotten paid yet. She'd been working double shifts at the diner since Dad left, and every dollar counted. I silenced it.
That's when their daughter Maya stormed onto the porch, crying. She froze when she saw me.
"You're literally spying on me now?" she snapped.
"No! I was just — the cable guy is coming tomorrow to fix the box, I was just —"
"Whatever." She flopped onto the couch opposite me. "Is it working?"
"Yeah. Channel 4 had some static earlier but it's fine now."
She looked at me, really looked at me, for the first time all summer. "You're in my AP Bio class, right? You sit in the back."
"Yeah."
"Why don't you ever say anything?"
I shrugged. "Nothing to say."
"Bullshit." She grabbed the remote. "Everyone's got something to say. They're just scared."
Another lightning strike, closer this time. The TV flickered. We both jumped.
"My dad's leaving too," she said quietly.
I stared at her. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. Found the texts yesterday. He's got some 'consulting gig' in Chicago. Total BS."
"That sucks."
"Yeah. Well. Now we're both pool kids with divorced parents." She cracked a smile. "Wanna order a pizza? His credit card is on file."
The cable box sizzled. A literal puff of smoke. Channel 4 went dead.
Maya laughed, this bright, surprised sound. "Well, that's definitely a sign."
"Of what?"
"I don't know." She stood up. "But I'm hungry. You coming?"
Outside, the rain slowed. I realized I'd left my phone unanswered for twenty minutes and my mom hadn't panicked. The world hadn't ended. Sometimes things broke — cable boxes, families, plans — and something else started instead.
"Yeah," I said. "I'm coming."