Spinach in the Lightning

Maya's stomach did that thing again—the twisty, awful feeling that happened whenever Jake glanced her way in AP Bio. Today, she'd decided, would be different. Today she'd actually talk to him at the padel courts after school.

"You got this," Chloe said, adjusting Maya's backwards baseball hat. "You look chill. Casual. Not like someone who's been overthinking this for three weeks straight."

Maya snorted. "Thanks for calling out my entire personality."

The walk to the courts felt endless. Her vintage Converse scuffed against pavement, each step heavier than the last. Padel was weirdly popular at their school now—everyone claimed to have loved it before it was trending, which was obviously cap. Maya had never played, but Jake mentioned he'd be there, and suddenly she was all in.

She spotted him immediately. He moved like liquid, easy laughter spilling out as he returned a shot. The ball cracked against the wall—pause—then his opponent swung and missed.

"Solid!" Jake called, fist-bumping the air.

Maya's mouth went dry. She'd rehearsed a thousand opening lines, but now they all seemed impossibly stupid. Hey Jake, nice serve. Wow, you're really good at hitting things with racquets. Want to date me?

A fox darted across the edge of the court—orange blur against manicured grass. Someone pointed. Jake turned.

Their eyes locked.

Maya's brain short-circuited. What was she supposed to do with her hands? Why did walking feel so complicated suddenly? She opened her mouth to say something—anything cool—and that's when the first lightning split the sky.

It was barely there. A flash behind clouds. But Maya flinched, and in her flinch, she tripped.

She didn't fall. That would've been better. Instead, she stumbled into the most awkward recovery move in human history, arms windmilling like a distressed bird, and somehow managed to spin around and face the fence like she'd meant to do that all along.

Jake was definitely looking now.

"You good?" he called.

"Yeah!" Maya shouted back, voice cracking. "Just saw a—I thought I saw a fox again."

Great. Now she was the fox girl.

Then Chloe texted her: spinach. You have spinach in your teeth.

Maya's soul left her body.

She hurried to the nearest bathroom, already pulling her hat down lower. The mirror confirmed everything: bright green spinach wedged between her front teeth like she'd Photoshopped it there for maximum damage.

Jake had seen that. Jake had seen ALL of that.

She was scrubbing it away with her finger when the door opened. Jake stood there, holding her phone.

"You dropped this," he said.

Maya stared. Her brain had stopped processing reality.

"Also," he continued, "I had spinach in my teeth too. Like, five minutes ago. That's why I went to the bathroom earlier."

He smiled. He had really nice teeth. No spinach.

"Want to play?" he asked. "I can teach you. I'm not actually good, I just flail dramatically and hope for the best."

Maya's laugh escaped before she could stop it. Real laughter. "You're on."

Outside, the rain finally fell. But somehow, the storm didn't feel scary anymore.