Low Battery, High Stakes

My lifeline was at 3%.

I'd been hiding in the corner of Kayla's basement party for forty-five minutes, clutching my iPhone like it was the last oxygen tank on earth. Instagram. TikTok. Repeat. Anything to avoid actually talking to people.

"You need a cable?"

I looked up. It was Marcus from AP Bio, holding out a sparkly pink charging cord. He gestured to the outlet behind me, like I was somehow supposed to reach it without making a fool of myself.

"Yeah," I managed, my voice sounding weirdly small. "Thanks."

But before I could plug in, the basement lights flickered. Thunder shook the floorboards. Outside, a lightning storm was going absolutely feral, and suddenly my phone screen went black—battery dead, not storm-related, but the timing felt like the universe was roasting me.

"RIP," Marcus said, cracking open a Vitaminwater. "You good?"

"Fine," I lied. "Just... socially recalibrating."

He laughed, and it wasn't mean. He reached into a bowl of orange slices on the table—like, actual oranges, not Cheetos—and held one out. "Emergency vitamin C. My mom swears it prevents awkwardness."

I took it. The citrus spray hit my nose as I peeled it, and for some reason, that tiny sensory detail broke something open in my chest.

"So," Marcus said, leaning against the wall. "Worst party ever, or top five worst?"

And that was it. We spent the next hour talking about everything—our parents' weird health obsessions, how we both lowkey hated the school lunch pizza (orange dust on everything, why?), how he'd once gotten struck by actual lightning while golfing with his dad (not even kidding, his hair stood up for days).

When my phone finally rebooted, I had three notifications. I ignored all of them.

"Hey," I said, tossing my orange peel into the trash. "You want to get out of here? There's a diner down the street."

Marcus grinned. "Bet."

Sometimes the universe kills your battery to save your life.