Spinach & Static

The coaxial cable lay tangled on my bedroom floor like a dead snake, and honestly? That was basically my love life in object form.

"You gotta help me, bro," I said, FaceTimeing Marcus while he was probably eating lunch without me. Again.

Marcus chewed something that looked suspiciously like the spinach my mom kept trying to force on me. "Dude. Just ask Maya to come over and 'study.' You've been simp-ing over her since September. It's giving pathetic."

I threw a pillow at my phone screen. "I CAN'T. What if she says no? What if it's awkward? What if I say something weird?"

"What if you stop overthinking and actually make a move?" Marcus swallowed. "Lightning doesn't strike twice, Zay. You gotta catch the bolt."

Dramatic much? But he wasn't wrong. Maya had been dropping hints since homecoming—smiling at me across the cafeteria, 'accidentally' brushing my arm in chem class. And I'd been standing there like a NPC waiting for dialogue options.

The doorbell rang.

My stomach did that thing where it feels like lightning is actually striking inside your body. I checked the mirror—spinach in my teeth? Hair looking like I'd just survived a tornado? Why did my mom have to cook spinach with literally EVERY meal lately?

It wasn't Maya. It was the cable guy.

"Here for the internet setup," he said, and I wanted to die right there because NOW of course Maya would choose to show up.

But she didn't.

The cable guy spent twenty minutes messing with wires while my brain replayed every interaction I'd ever had with Maya. Every awkward "hey" in the hallway. Every time I'd frozen up instead of asking for her number.

"All set," the cable guy finally said. "You're connected."

Connected.

I pulled out my phone, hands shaking like I was defusing a bomb. Maya's profile pic stared back at me—her with that imperfect smile that made my chest feel like actual lightning.

Hey wanna come over and study? I have Netflix now.

Seen.

The three dots appeared. Disappeared. Appeared again.

I'm free Friday 😊

The lightning in my chest wasn't anxiety anymore. It was possibility. And Marcus was right—you don't wait for the bolt to strike. You become the bolt.

Also, I needed to floss. Like, a lot.