Poolside Lightning Strike

The neighborhood **pool** party was supposed to be chill, but as usual, everything felt low-key exhausting. Maya sat on the edge of a lounge chair, scrolling through her phone while pretending not to notice the social **pyramid** forming across the water. There they were — the popular crew, claiming the best spots like they owned summer itself.

"You're literally doing it again," said Kayla, dropping onto the chair beside her. "The observing thing. You're not a **spy**, Maya. You can just say hi to Jordan."

Maya's face burned. "I'm not spying. I'm being strategic. There's a difference."

"Girl, you've been 'strategic' since seventh grade." Kayla kicked off her flip-flops. "At this point, Jordan probably thinks you don't speak."

The sun dipped lower, painting everything that perfect golden hour that made Instagram photos look effortless. Someone cranked the playlist — actually good music for once — and people started drifting toward the deep end. Then Jordan looked over and actually waved.

Maya's stomach did that thing where physics stopped working.

"That's your cue," Kayla hissed, pushing her shoulder.

Maya stood, legs feeling like they'd forgotten how to human. She was halfway across the deck when it happened — a **lightning** strike, literally and metaphorically at the exact same time. The sky cracked open, rain sheeting down, everyone shrieking and scattering toward the covered area.

She ended up squeezed under the patio shelter shoulder-to-shoulder with Jordan, both dripping wet, laughing at how ridiculously dramatic life could be.

"So," Jordan said, grinning. "I was wondering when you'd come say hey."

"You noticed?" The words slipped out before her brain could filter them.

"Duh. I've been waiting all summer." Jordan's phone buzzed. "Tomorrow? Same time? Assuming no actual lightning this time?"

Maya nodded, unable to stop smiling. Sometimes the universe just had to interrupt to get you to pay attention.