Static

Maya's hair refused to cooperate. Not that it ever did, but today of all days—the day Jordan finally noticed her—her curls had staged a full rebellion. She'd spent forty-five minutes with the straightening iron, only to step outside and have the humidity laugh in her face.

"You look intense," Jordan said, sliding onto the bench beside her. They were at the edge of the school pool, the spring meet chaos swirling around them.

Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to organ function. "Intense? Is that code for 'your hair looks like you stuck a fork in an electrical outlet'?"

Jordan laughed, and it was better than Maya had imagined. "No, I mean—you're always watching everything. Like you're collecting material."

Before Maya could respond, someone shoved her from behind. She didn't even have time to scream before she hit the water.

The shock stole her breath. She kicked upward, breaking the surface to find the entire swim team staring, including Jordan, whose expression was horrified. Then someone yelled: "Push him in too!"

Hands descended on Jordan. A moment later, he surfaced beside her, sopping wet, that stupid perfect hair plastered to his forehead.

They tread water, locked in this moment of utter mortification. Then Jordan cracked up. "Well," he said, "this is one way to make an impression."

Maya started laughing too. It was ridiculous. She was soaked, her makeup was running, and somehow this was the best thing that had happened all year.

"Your hair," Jordan said, reaching out like he might touch a curl, then stopping himself. "It's actually—"

Lightning struck somewhere beyond the gym. The sky opened, and suddenly they weren't the only ones getting drenched. Everyone scrambled for cover, screaming and laughing, while Jordan and Maya just floated there in the downpour, not moving.

"We should probably get out," Maya said.

"Yeah," Jordan agreed. But neither of them moved.

Later, under the overhang, while Jordan's friends called shotgun on rides home, he looked at Maya with those annoyingly earnest eyes teenage boys got before they learned to be cool about everything.

"My hair looks insane right now," he said.

Maya smiled. "Welcome to my life."

"I think I like it," Jordan said, and then he did the thing. The thing where he tucked a strand of wet hair behind her ear, and his fingers lingered, and the air between them felt charged with that terrifying, wonderful static that wasn't electricity at all but possibility.

"Same time next week?" he asked.

Maya's heart was doing something decidedly unhealthy. "I'll bring a towel."