Signal, Interrupted

The cable had been dead for three hours, and honestly? So was my social life.

Seventeen, summer after junior year, and I was physically incapable of existing offline. My friends were probably living their best lives without me. Maya was at beach volleyball. Jordan was definitely posting something aesthetic. Meanwhile, I was stuck at home, staring at my dad's new padel racket like it held the secrets to not being literally the most boring person alive.

"Wanna hit the court?" Dad leaned into my doorway, oblivious to my existential crisis. "Just you and me."

I almost said no. Almost continued my wallow in self-pity. But then his padel cat—that's what he called this scrawny stray that showed up whenever we played—sauntered past my door like it owned the place.

"Fine," I groaned, dragging myself off my bed. "But I'm wearing pajamas."

"Perfect." He grinned. "Athleisure is in."

The court was empty, which was basically the story of my summer. But something weird happened when we started playing. The sound of the ball hitting the racket—this satisfying *thwack* that echoed through the neighborhood—actually cleared my head. I stopped thinking about my dead WiFi and my ghost followers and how everyone's summer seemed better than mine.

Then I saw her—Maya, standing at the fence, holding a bag of padel balls like she'd been there for a while.

"Your serve needs work," she called out, and I nearly tripped over my own feet.

Maya. THE Maya. Who I'd been cyber-stalking since seventh grade but never actually talked to because why ruin a perfectly good parasocial relationship?

"You play?" I managed, my voice cracking like I was still twelve.

"Been playing since I was twelve." She hopped the fence, effortless, like social anxiety was something that happened to other people. "Teach you?"

We played until sunset. My phone stayed in my bag, dead cable forgotten. The cat circled the court, occasionally darting across like it was playing defense. I learned that Maya's Instagram was mostly curated. That she failed her driving test twice. That she thought *I* was the one with the perfect life.

"Running helps me think," she said afterward, sitting on the bench as the sky turned pink-orange. "Maybe we could go for a run tomorrow? Since your cable's still..." She gestured vaguely at my house.

"Yeah," I said, and something unclenched in my chest. "Yeah. Tomorrow."

Later that night, I finally noticed my phone had connected to the neighbor's WiFi. A bunch of notifications lit up my screen—group chats, tagged posts, stories I was missing.

I plugged in the cable, watched the connection restore, and then did something I'd never done before.

I turned my phone off.

Some signals are worth interrupting.