Running Through Lightning

The hat was everything. A beat-up navy beanie with a slightly unraveling brim that I'd refused to wash since eighth grade because it had finally achieved that perfect, I-don't-care-but-actually-I-care-a-lot look. I tugged it lower over my forehead, trying to disappear into the booth at Benny's Pizza while everyone around me laughed about something I'd missed.

"Earth to Maya," Jordan said, sliding into the seat across from me. His smile was like getting hit with actual lightning—sudden, blinding, and totally disorienting. "You coming to the game Friday?"

I shrugged, pretending to be intensely focused on the spinach artfully decorating my pizza slice. "Maybe. If I'm not working."

"You're always working," he said, but not like he was annoyed. Like he actually noticed.

My phone buzzed against the table. My mom: *Cable guy coming between 3-5. DON'T leave the house.*

"Duty calls," I muttered, already gathering my backpack. The one downside of finally getting my own room: dealing with installation appointments while my friends were living their best teenage lives.

"Need a ride?" Jordan offered.

"No, it's cool. I'll run."

"You're going to RUN? In this heat?"

"I like running," I lied. I actually hated it with every fiber of my being, but something about Jordan's attention made me want to be a person who did spontaneous, healthy things. A person who ran places because she could.

The truth was, I'd been metaphorically running for months—away from conversations, away from opportunities, away from the possibility that anyone might actually see me. And now I was literally running down Maple Street in ninety-degree weather because Jordan Miller had offered me a ride and I'd panicked.

Halfway home, the sky turned that weird greenish color that means something bad is about to happen. Then the first drop hit my arm.

"You've got to be kidding me," I groaned, as the clouds opened up like they'd been holding it in for weeks.

Lightning cracked somewhere close—too close. My heart jumped into my throat. I ducked under a convenience store awning, dripping wet, my hair plastered to my face, probably looking like a drowned rat. But the rain felt like permission. Permission to stop running. Permission to just stand there and let myself be seen.

"Maya?"

I turned. Jordan's mom's sedan was pulled up to the curb. He was leaning out the passenger window, looking concerned. "Everything okay?"

I took a breath. "My house is right there," I pointed. "But thanks."

"Hop in," he insisted. "Unless you'd rather stand in the lightning storm?"

I laughed—actually laughed—as I climbed into the air-conditioned car. "Good point."

"Nice hat," he said softly, as we pulled away from the curb. "It suits you."

Maybe I didn't have to run anymore. Maybe I could just be.

The cable guy was late anyway.