Spinach Teeth & Electric Storms

Maya had been rehearsing what she'd say to Tyler for exactly forty-seven minutes. The house party thumped around her—sophomores she barely recognized, red Solo cups scattered like forgotten promises, someone's phone blasting that same song everyone pretended to hate but secretly loved.

She'd spent three hours getting ready. Straightened her hair until it hung like silk. Applied eyeliner with surgical precision. Swallowed that neon orange **vitamin** gummy her mom swore would fix her skin, even though Maya knew nothing could fix being sixteen and awkward.

Now she was finally talking to him. Tyler, who sat behind her in history and drew comics in the margins of his notebook. Tyler, who had that effortless way of existing that Maya had been trying to copy since September.

"So," he said, leaning against the kitchen counter. "You come here often?"

She laughed, because that was the right response. But then—because the universe had a personal vendetta against her dignity—a flash of **lightning** split the sky outside. The entire house went dark.

Someone screamed. Maya and Tyler both reached for their phones at the same moment, fingers brushing. She felt it like electricity.

"Cool storm," he said, and she could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yeah," she managed. "Super cool."

They ended up on the back porch, watching rain slash through the darkness. Her phone died at 11:47—she'd forgotten to charge it, left the **cable** tangled on her bedroom floor next to her bed. Tyler's still worked, though, casting them both in ghostly blue light.

They talked for two hours. About everything. About how his parents wanted him to play soccer but he wanted to draw comics. About how Maya felt like she was constantly performing a version of herself she didn't recognize. About how high school felt like waiting for something real to start.

It was the most honest conversation she'd had in years.

The power came back around 2 AM. They found themselves in the suddenly-bright kitchen, making grilled cheese with whatever cheese someone had left in the fridge. Maya took a bite, feeling reckless and alive and seen.

"You have something in your teeth," Tyler said, gesturing to his own incisors.

Maya's stomach dropped. She'd talked to him for two hours with **spinach** stuck in her teeth.

But then he was laughing, really laughing, and she realized she was too. Not the fake laugh she used at school. The real one, the one that felt like coming home.

"Your turn," she said. "Check yours."

He did. A tiny piece of cheese.

They both laughed, and it wasn't embarrassing. It was just—it was just them.

"Same time next Friday?" he asked, as she grabbed her shoes by the door.

"Only if there's another storm," she said, and meant it.