Signal Found

The spinach was stuck in my braces. I'd been chewing on it nervously for twenty minutes while Maya's golden retriever, Buster, kept nudging my leg with his wet nose like he knew something was wrong.

"You gonna finish that?" Jake asked, pointing at my untouched slice.

I swallowed, praying the green fleck wasn't visible. "Nah. Not hungry."

My first real party. My first chance with Maya. And I was sitting on her basement couch, surrounded by seniors who talked about college like it was some promised land they'd already mapped out on their phones, while I was just trying to figure out if I should smile with my mouth closed.

"The cable's out again," someone groaned as the screen went black.

Perfect. Everyone turned to look at the tangled mess of cords behind the TV. Maya sighed, pushing herself off the beanbag chair. "I'll handle it."

"I got it," I said, maybe too quickly. Five heads swiveled toward me. I could feel my face heating up. "I mean, if you want."

Maya shrugged. "Be my guest."

The dog followed me behind the entertainment center, where the cable situation looked like a bowl of spaghetti someone had thrown against the wall. I knelt there, tugging at wires, trying to look like I knew what I was doing.

"You need help?" It was Maya, crouching beside me. Our shoulders touched. Up close, I could see she had a tiny freckle right on her left earlobe.

"I think this one's HDMI," I mumbled, holding up a random cord.

She laughed. It sounded like wind chimes. "That's the power strip, genius."

Buster chose that exact moment to shake himself dry from his earlier dip in the backyard sprinkler, spraying both of us with dirty dog water. We froze, spinach-flecked smile and all, dripping wet.

Maya looked at me. At the spinach. At my soaked hoodie. Then she started laughing—not mean laughing, but the real kind, where you can't breathe and your eyes water.

"You've had spinach in your braces since you got here," she said between gasps. "I was waiting for you to notice."

"You too?" I gestured at her own teeth.

She stopped laughing. "Touché."

We sat there on the basement floor, wet and embarrassed, while the seniors upstairs complained about the cable and Buster licked my ankle. And somehow, this wasn't how I'd imagined it going, but it was better.

"Tomorrow," Maya said, wiping dog water from her forehead, "we're getting floss."

"Tomorrow," I agreed.

Sometimes connection isn't about the cable at all. Sometimes it's about the things that almost break you first.