Poolside Lightning

The orange swimsuit was a mistake. Like, a massive mistake. I stood at the edge of Jake's pool, feeling like a traffic cone wearing swim trunks while everyone else looked chill in muted blues and blacks.

"Yo, Maya! You gonna stand there all day or actually swim?" Jordan called from the water, grinning like he knew exactly how awkward I felt.

"Working up to it," I mumbled, adjusting the strap that kept digging into my shoulder. Why did Mom have to buy the brightest option at the store? "It's so cheerful," she'd said. Yeah, no. It was a beacon.

Clouds were rolling in anyway, which was honestly a blessing. Maybe the pool party would get cancelled and I could escape this social torture.

A crack of thunder shook the air. Then lightning — actual lightning — split the sky across the backyard, illuminating everything in this wild purple-white flash.

"Everybody out!" Jake's dad yelled. "Storm's coming in fast!"

We all scrambled for our towels. That's when I noticed Jordan, still in the water, looking up at the darkening sky with this weird expression.

"What are you doing?" I asked, grabbing my stuff.

"I like storms," he said quietly, and then — probably the most unexpected moment of my entire high school experience so far — he looked right at me and added, "Your swimsuit's sick, by the way. Takes confidence to pull off that color."

I stood there, clutching my towel, rain starting to dot the driveway. Water everywhere — falling from the sky, dripping from my hair, pooling around our feet.

"Thanks?" I said, but it came out like a question.

Jordan grinned. "Yeah. Anyway, see you Monday."

As I ran to my mom's car through the suddenly pouring rain, orange swimsuit and all, I realized something: sometimes the things that make you stand out are exactly what make you memorable. And maybe that's not so bad after all.