Storm Front Porch

Maya's palms wouldn't stop sweating. She gripped the red Solo cup like her life depended on it, hyper-aware that everyone at Tyler's party could probably see her shaking. The house was packed—wall-to-wall juniors from Northwood High, all acting like they weren't terrified of being seen as lame.

Outside, lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the backyard through the sliding glass doors. Someone had rigged these weird paper lanterns, and they kept flickering every time the storm picked up.

"Hey," said a voice behind her.

Maya turned. It was Jordan—the kid who sat behind her in AP Bio, the one with the oversized hoodies and the perpetually messy dark curls. They were holding their phone like it was a shield.

"Hiding too?" Jordan asked.

Maya shrugged. "Just needed air."

"Mind if I—?"

"Go for it."

They stood there in awkward silence for approximately seven years. Then:

"My mom made me come," Jordan admitted. "She's all 'socialization is important for development' and whatever. But like... I'd literally rather be home watching my goldfish swim in circles."

Maya snorted. "You named him?"

"Her name is Karen, and she's emotionally unavailable. But we're working on it."

Something about Jordan's deadpan delivery made Maya feel lighter. "My mom thinks I'm 'isolating myself' because I'd rather read than fake enthusiasm for beer pong."

"The cable's out at my place anyway," Jordan said. "So this is technically more entertaining than staring at a blank screen."

"Wow. Selling it."

Jordan's phone buzzed. They stared at it, then made a face. "Group chat blowing up. Everyone's posting 'pics or it didn't happen' energy. Meanwhile I'm just trying not to bear hug the wall and pretend I'm not here."

Maya actually laughed then. "You're weird."

"Weirder than standing in a corner gripping a cup you haven't touched in twenty minutes?"

"Touché."

Another flash of lightning, closer this time. The porch light flickered ominously.

"We should go inside," Maya said.

"Or," Jordan suggested, "we could bail. There's a 24-hour diner down the street. They have those mini donuts you can only get at 2 AM with people who have equally questionable decision-making skills."

Maya's palms stopped sweating for the first time all night. "I'm listening."

"My treat. Consider it—" Jordan paused, then smiled crookedly "—avoidance behavior bonding."

"I'm in," she said, and set her cup down on the porch rail.

They slipped out the side gate into the storm, neither of them looking back at the party behind them.