Static Between Us

The lightning cracked outside, flashing the gym in strobe-light white. My hair stood on end — literally, thanks to the humidity and my failed attempt at beach waves that now looked more like electrocuted poodle.

"You good, Miles?" Jace asked, pointing at my head.

"Frizz happens," I muttered, dunking my hands in the water fountain like that would fix anything. It only made it worse. Classic me.

We were supposed to be at Sarah's party, but neither of us got invited. So here we were: the only two freshmen hiding out in the gym during homecoming, pretending we chose this. Jace's sweaty palm kept brushing mine every time we reached for the same chips. I wasn't sure if my heart was racing from the storm outside or the fact that I'd had a crush on him since seventh grade.

"Bear with me here," he said, fumbling with his phone. "I'm trying to hack the DJ playlist."

"You're gonna get us suspended. Again."

"Worth it." He grinned, and I felt that lightning-in-a-bottle feeling — that specific teenage ache where everything feels possible and terrible at the same time.

He put on "our" song, that one we'd screamed in his driveway all summer when his parents were fighting. The storm shook the windows. The water from my hair dripped down my neck. Jace looked at me, really looked at me, and said, "You know, the electrocuted poodle look is kinda working for you."

I laughed so hard I snorted. He laughed too. And for three minutes, we slow-danced in the empty gym while the world outside fell apart. Not dating. Not together. Just whatever this was — bigger, scarier, electric.

When the song ended, the lights flickered back on. Reality rushed in. But Jace's palm found mine one more time, squeezing once, before letting go.

Some moments you carry like lightning in a jar. That was mine.