Secondhand Signals

Maya's hair was officially a disaster. She'd spent forty-five minutes trying to recreate the beach waves from that TikTok tutorial, but somehow ended up looking like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket instead. Which was ironic, considering what happened next.

Her phone pinged. *Ethan: u ready? I'm outside*

Panic surged through her veins like straight caffeine. Her palms went instantly sweaty — gross, why did nervousness always manifest so unflatteringly? She swiped her hands on her jeans, grabbed the orange soda from her desk (her third one, because apparently anxiety required constant hydration), and practically sprinted down the stairs.

"Bye!" she called to no one in particular, because her mom was working late and her brother was at band practice. Freedom.

Ethan's car was older than she was — a 2004 Honda Civic with a driver's side window that didn't roll down anymore and an AUX port that only worked if you held the cable at exactly forty-five degrees. He grinned when she climbed in, all messy hair and nervous energy.

"Hey. Nice hair."

She couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. "It's... a work in progress."

"No, seriously, it's cool." He fiddled with the frayed AUX cable. "Very art student. Very 'I don't care what anyone thinks.'"

Maya's heart did this embarrassing little flutter thing. "That's exactly the vibe I was going for. Obviously."

They were going to this party at Tyler's house — the kind of party that everyone would be talking about on Monday, the kind where you either showed up looking cool or you didn't show up at all. Social dynamics were basically a minefield dressed in LED lights and cheap punch.

The AUX cable chose that moment to give up completely. Music cut out mid-song, and suddenly they were just two sixteen-year-olds in an old Honda with nothing but the sound of their own breathing and the distant hum of traffic.

Ethan kept his eyes on the road. "So, I was gonna wait until later, but..."

He paused so long Maya thought she might actually explode.

"But?"

"But do you maybe want to skip the party? We could just... I don't know. Drive around? Get food? My treat."

Her palm found the door handle, grounding herself. This was it — one of those moments that would become either a core memory or a rejection she'd analyze in her diary for weeks. She looked at him, really looked at him, and realized he was just as nervous as she was. His hands were tight on the steering wheel. His knee was doing this little bounce thing.

"Yes," she said. "Like, a thousand times yes."

Ethan's grin was everything. "Cool. Cool cool cool. There's this orange chicken place—"

Maya laughed, and the sound felt like finally exhaling after holding her breath all day. "Perfect."

They bypassed the party entirely. They ate mediocre takeout in a parking lot while the sun went down, talking about everything and nothing until her phone battery died. Somewhere around 9 PM, she realized her hair still looked like a disaster.

She also realized she didn't care at all.