Static Electricity

My hair was doing that thing again — exploding outward like I'd stuck my finger in an electrical socket. I'd spent forty minutes trying to look effortless, but the mirror reflected someone who'd clearly tried too hard.

The house party thumped downstairs. Bass vibrated through the floorboards, reminding me that everyone was having the time of their lives while I hid in the bathroom, overanalyzing every text Tyler had sent me this week.

*You coming?*

*Why wouldn't I be?*

*Just checking lol*

What did that even mean? Was Tyler checking because he wanted me there, or checking so he could make fun of me later with his friends? My brain was that one TikTok audio on repeat: "I'm overthinking, I'm overthinking."

The door creaked open.

I jumped, barely not dropping my phone.

Sam stood there, looking unfairly gorgeous in that oversized flannel that was definitely not doing justice to my composure. Sam, who I'd had a weird crush on since seventh grade, who was now in eleventh grade and somehow even more confusingly attractive.

"Yo," Sam said, leaning against the doorframe like this was a casual conversation and not me having a mini meltdown in someone's bathroom. "Tyler's been low-key asking where you disappeared to."

My palms started sweating. Like, actually uncomfortably damp. I shoved them in my back pockets.

"Just, uh," I managed. "Fixing my hair."

"It looks fine." Sam shrugged, easy and devastating. "Actually, it looks kinda rad. Different."

The weird compliment stunned me into silence. Sam stepped closer, and the tiny bathroom suddenly felt very small.

Lightning flashed outside the window, everything going stark white for a second, and I flinched. The storm had been building all evening, humidity making everything feel heavier and more intense.

"Scared?" Sam teased softly.

"No, I —"

CRASH.

Something slammed against the house, and a dog — Tyler's massive golden retriever, Banjo — came bursting through the now-open bathroom door, trembling like a leaf and making these high-pitched whining sounds that would've been hilarious if they weren't so pathetic.

"Whoa, hey buddy," Sam said instantly, dropping to their knees. "It's okay, you're good."

I joined them on the tiled floor, and Banjo practically climbed into my lap, seventy pounds of terrified golden retriever hiding from the big scary thunder. I ran my hands through his fur, his racing heart slowing down as we both murmured reassurances.

Sam's hand brushed mine as we both petted Banjo, and I felt this weird jolt that had nothing to do with the storm outside. For a second, our eyes met, and something unspoken passed between us — recognition, maybe. Or possibility.

"Guess Banjo's not a storm fan," I said, sounding breathless even to my own ears.

"Guess not." Sam's voice was lower now. "You okay though?"

The question felt heavier than it should have.

"Yeah," I said, and realized it was true. "Yeah, I'm good."

Banjo's tail thumped against the floor, and my hair was definitely still a mess, and Tyler was probably still downstairs wondering where I was. But Sam was sitting on the bathroom floor with me, and for once, my overthinking brain had gone completely quiet.

"Good," Sam said. "That's good."

Another flash of lightning, but this time, I didn't flinch.