Signal Lost

Marcus stood in front of his mirror, yanking his favorite beanie down for the third time. The **hat** was his safety net—without it, his always-messy curls made him feel exposed. Like,actually vulnerable.

Tonight was the night. Jayla's party. The one where everyone who was anyone would be there. Including Maya.

"You good?" his sister Tasha called from somewhere down the hall. "You've been in there forever."

"Fine," Marcus lied, his voice cracking. Smooth.

His phone buzzed. 4%. Are you kidding me? He scrambled to find his charging **cable**, fingers fumbling through the disaster zone of his backpack. There it was, tangled around a half-eaten granola bar. Typical.

Seven minutes until he had to leave. The phone needed at least enough charge to survive the night. What if Maya wanted to exchange numbers? What if she—okay, stop. Getting ahead of yourself.

"Marcus! Tasha! Dinner!" Mom's voice floated up the stairs.

"Not hungry!" He checked his phone. 12%. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Fifteen minutes later, Marcus was **running**. Literally. Down the sidewalk, toward Jayla's house three blocks away, because he'd somehow managed to leave exactly when he should have already arrived. His earbuds thumped a playlist he'd spent three days curating—casual but confident, vibey but not trying too hard.

His breath hitched. Was he sweating? Please don't let him be sweating.

The house loomed ahead. Bass thumped through the walls. People already on the porch, laughing in clumps, holding those red solo cups like props in a movie. Marcus adjusted his hat. Deep breath.

You got this.

Then his pocket buzzed. Empty.

He patted his jeans. Nothing. Panic flared. The **cable**—he'd left it plugged in, still knotted around that granola bar. Not the end of the world, except...

His phone.

Still on his bed. Charging to 47%.

Marcus stopped **running**. The bass kept thumping. The porch lights kept glowing. People kept existing in their perfect little moment, while he stood there, hat in hand, phone-less, about to make the most awkward entrance in the history of high school social disasters.

His reflection in a parked car's window caught his eye. Hat. Hair that actually looked decent for once. A hint of a smile.

Whatever.

He adjusted the **hat** one last time and kept walking. Phone or no phone, Maya was inside. And Marcus had spent enough time **running** from moments like this.

Tonight, he was showing up.