Poolside Lightning Strike

The summer before sophomore year, I spent every Friday evening **swimming** laps at the Chandler Community Pool while my Instagram stories collected dust. Social anxiety hits different when you're fourteen and convinced everyone's judging your cannonball form.

That night, everything changed.

The pool deck buzzed with end-of-summer energy. Jordan Hayes—basically royalty since her TikTok blew up—sat by the deep end, scrolling through her **iPhone** like she held the secrets to the universe in those perfectly manicured hands. I'd been crushing on her since seventh period English, when she'd caught me doodling sphinxes in the margins of my worksheet and actually laughed.

"Nice riddle, nerds," she'd said. I died a thousand glorious deaths.

Now Hunter was chest-thumping by the snack bar, being a total **bull** about his varsity football prospects. "Coach says I'm starting material," he announced to nobody who cared. His ego was giving me contact embarrassment from three pool chairs away.

Then the sky opened up.

**Lightning** cracked across the horizon like reality had finally snapped. The pool's emergency alarm blared—everyone out, NOW. In the chaos, Jordan dropped her phone. It skittered across the wet concrete, straight toward the storm drain.

I moved without thinking. Dived. Grabbed it before it disappeared into darkness.

When I surfaced, rain was pouring. Everyone had scattered under the pavilion. Everyone except Jordan, standing there in her drenched sundress, looking at me like I'd just pulled a sword from a stone.

"You saved my life," she said, and I couldn't tell if she was being dramatic or if that was genuinely how much her phone meant to her generation.

"Just your iPhone," I shrugged, handing it over. My voice cracked. Classic.

She smiled—really smiled, not her perfected camera-ready one. "You're always doing that. Saving things."

"What?"

"Noticing stuff nobody else sees. Like that time with the sphinx doodle." She stepped closer, rain plastering hair to her forehead. "You're different, Marcus."

"Different weird or different weird?"

"Just different." She typed something on her rescued phone. "Check your DMs."

Walking home in the storm, I checked. One notification: Jordan Hayes requested to follow you.

Some strikes don't need lightning to change everything.