Orange Sky Lightning

Maya popped the chalky **vitamin** her mom insisted would boost her "immune system and confidence," gagging slightly. Sixteen years old and still taking Flintstone vitamins because her mom read somewhere they helped with "adolescent focus." Whatever that meant.

The hallway at North Valley High stretched before her like a battlefield. Today was the day—tryouts for the spring showcase. Her stomach did that thing where it felt like a **lightning** strike was happening internally.

"You're going to crush it," said Ren, flicking his **orange** skateboard against his locker. "Unless you freeze up like last time."

"Helpful, Ren. Really."

He shrugged, that lazy grin that made half the sophomore class swoon. "Just saying. You've got the voice, Maya. It's the head game that messes with you."

She knew he was right. Last year's talent show debacle—forgotten lyrics, hyperventilating backstage, her **cat** Scrunchy scratching her arm through her performance costume—still haunted her. The video had somehow circulated on TikTok. #awkward.

But this year would be different. She'd been secretly performing at open mic nights at the coffee shop downtown. No one from school went there. It was her sanctuary.

The problem? Her mom had signed her up for tutoring sessions with Jayden Chen—the same Jayden who'd accidentally posted that embarrassing video freshman year. And now they were partnered for a history project due Friday. The same day as tryouts.

It was too much to **bear**.

"Hey, Maya." Jayden materialized at her locker, holding out a Starbucks cup. "I, uh, got you this. For history project brain fuel."

He was surprisingly tall this year. And his eyes were actually really nice when not squinting through a phone screen.

"Thanks." She took it, surprised. "Since when do you drink coffee?"

"Since my sister got me addicted. Look, about that video from freshman year..." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I felt terrible about that. I still do."

Maya studied him. Was he being genuine?

"Come to the coffee shop tonight," she heard herself say. "I'm playing at 7. If you want to make it up to me, you can listen."

That night, with orange sunset streaming through the café windows, Maya sang. Jayden sat in the front row, actually listening, not recording. When she finished, he clapped first.

"You're amazing," he said simply. "Why didn't you tell anyone?"

"Stage fright," she admitted. "But working on it."

"Well," Jayden stood up. "Tomorrow's tryouts, you're going to kill it. And if you get nervous? Just remember that video's old news. I'll make sure nobody brings it up."

Maya felt something shift inside her. Maybe it wasn't just the vitamins. Maybe confidence wasn't something you could supplement—it was something you earned, one terrified performance at a time.

The storm outside broke, lightning illuminating the café in sudden flashes. She didn't even jump.