Static and Lightning

The HDMI cable was frayed at the ends, the kind of janky setup only four broke high schoolers would accept. Friday nights at Marcus's house were sacred — the one time we could rot on his couch, order too much pizza, and pretend we weren't all silently freaking out about college applications, parents divorcing, or whatever fresh hell had dropped that week.

"Bro, this again?" Jamal groaned as the screen flickered for the third time. "I swear your TV is literally cursed."

"It's fine, just give it a sec—"

Lightning cracked so close the room went white, followed immediately by thunder that rattled the basement windows. The TV died. The router blinked its sympathy lights and gave up. Total blackout.

"Great," Maya said, already reaching for her phone. "I'm basically a zombie without my dopamine feed. My brain has officially stopped functioning."

"Same," I admitted. "I was up till 3am finishing that English essay and I can't feel my face anymore."

Marcus lit a candle he'd found somewhere, and suddenly the four of us were sitting in this weird golden glow, no screens, no distractions. Just us and the sound of rain hammering the roof above.

"Okay, real talk," Maya said, setting her phone face down on the carpet. "Who else feels like they're failing at everything?"

Silence. Then Jamal started laughing, this exhausted thing. "Bro, I haven't started my AP Chem project that's due Monday and my parents have been on my case about grades since I got that C. I feel like I'm drowning."

"I told my mom I'm applying to state school," Marcus said quietly, "but I secretly submitted applications to three art programs. She's gonna lose it."

We all just stared at him.

"What?"

"Since when do you do art?" I asked.

"Since forever, I just... never showed anyone. It feels dumb saying it out loud."

"It's not dumb," Maya said. "That's actually sick."

For the next two hours, we just talked. Really talked — about how terrified we were of the future, about how fake we felt half the time, about the stuff we'd been too scared to say to anyone. The storm raged outside, but something in that room felt lighter, like we'd all been holding our breath for months and finally — finally — could exhale.

When the power finally flickered back on at 2AM, we didn't immediately reach for the cable remote. We just sat there in the sudden brightness, different somehow, like something had shifted. Not fixed, but changed. Real.

"We should do this again," Jamal said. "Like, actually talk. Without the TV."

"Yeah," I said, and I meant it. "Yeah, we should."