Orange Sky & Lightning Dreams

The first time I saw Alex, we were both hiding behind the gym during third period. He was supposed to be in AP Bio, and I was supposed to be anywhere but there.

"Nice hair," he said, gesturing to my electric blue bangs. "Very brave."

"Very broke," I corrected. "DIY disaster."

He laughed, and in that moment, something shifted—like lightning striking too close, leaving the air electric and charged.

We started talking every day behind the gym. Alex had this way of making me feel seen, which was terrifying and amazing all at once. He told me about his dreams of becoming a photographer, how his parents wanted him to be a doctor instead. I told him about my parents' messy divorce and how I was still figuring out who I was without them screaming at each other every night.

"My dog gets it," I said one day, pulling up a picture of Buster, my chaos incarnate golden retriever. "He's the only one who doesn't expect anything from me."

Alex smiled. "He looks like a good listener."

That Friday, we skipped the football game and walked to the convenience store instead. Alex bought us both those terrible orange cream sodas that taste like artificial dreams and childhood nostalgia. We sat on the curb as the sky turned orange-gold, that perfect autumn sunset that makes everything feel like a movie montage.

"I'm glad I met you," Alex said, so quiet I almost missed it.

"Me too," I said back, my heart doing that thing where it beats too fast and not enough all at once.

Then his phone buzzed. His mom. He had to go.

"See you Monday?" he asked.

"Yeah. Monday."

But Monday never happened. Alex's parents transferred him to private school. No warning, no goodbye—just gone like lightning in a bottle you never got to open.

Sometimes I still buy those orange sodas and sit behind the gym, waiting for nothing in particular. Buster still listens to me complain about everything. And I think about how some people are like lightning—brilliant and impossible to hold, burning bright for one perfect moment before disappearing into the sky.

I'm different now. Braver. Alex taught me that even quicksilver moments can change everything.

The sky still turns orange sometimes, and I still smile at the memory.