Storm Front Summer

The beach bonfire crackled, sending sparks toward the palm trees swaying in the distance. I'd been crushing on Maya since seventh period English started, and now she was sitting three feet away, passing me a lukewarm soda. I tried to play it cool, leaning back on my elbows in the sand like I belonged at these parties. I didn't.

"You good?" Maya asked, bumping my shoulder with hers. "You've been weirdly quiet."

"Just thinking," I lied, smoothing my sweaty palms against my shorts. My best friend Dakota had texted me twenty minutes ago: TELL HER OR I WILL.

Maya laughed at something someone said, throwing her head back. The firelight caught the curve of her neck. I felt it everywhere—this electric hum under my skin, like waiting for something to happen.

Then came the first flash—lightning stitching the sky purple, far out over the ocean. Everyone counted. One one-thousand, two one-thousand—THUNDER rattled our teeth.

"Storm's coming," someone yelled. People started scrambling, grabbing phones and flip-flops.

But Maya didn't move. She turned to me, her expression unreadable in the firelight. Lightning flashed again, closer this time. Illuminating everything.

"I know," she said softly.

"Know what?" My heart hammered against my ribs.

"That you like me." A pause. "I like you too, you idiot."

Another lightning strike, so close the air smelled like ozone. But I couldn't look away from her face, from how she was smiling like she'd been waiting forever to say it.

Rain started coming down, fat warm drops, as the crowd scattered toward cars. But we stayed there in the sand, my palm finally finding hers, lightning cracking the sky open like it had been saving up all summer for this exact moment.

"Well," I said, my voice barely above the rain. "This is definitely happening."

Maya squeezed my hand. "Yeah. Yeah, it is."