The Cable Guy's Son

The summer air hung thick and heavy as I pedaled my bike past the Miller house, where a stained-glass window caught the afternoon sun. Inside, I could see the flickering blue light of a TV screen, and I remembered: my dad was the cable guy. That's why everyone in the neighborhood knew our family – not because we were cool, but because we held the power to their Netflix.

I'd spent all morning helping my dad run a thick black cable across the Millers' pristine lawn, sweating through my t-shirt while Mrs. Miller watched from the porch like I might steal something. Now I was meeting up with the crew at the park, and I still smelled like work.

"You look like you just crawled out of a sewer," Maya said when I skated up to the group. She was sitting on the swings, looking effortlessly perfect in her crop top and high-waisted shorts.

"Thanks, Maya," I muttered, trying to smooth my hair. I'd spent fifteen minutes on it this morning, but the humidity had other plans.

The guys were setting up a makeshift baseball game in the field. "Hey, cable boy," Derek called out. "Your dad fix our WiFi yet?"

"Working on it," I lied. My dad had been "working on it" for three weeks. Some things never changed.

Maya hopped off the swings and walked over to me. "Wanna play? We need an even number."

"Sure," I said, trying to play it cool even though my heart was hammering. Maya was the kind of girl who made your brain stop working. She'd transferred to our school in February and had been disrupting my peace ever since.

I grabbed a baseball hat from the ground – someone's left behind – and put it on backward. "Better?" I asked Maya.

She smiled, and it was like someone flipped a switch inside me. "Much."

We played until the sun started sinking, turning the sky all purples and pinks. When Derek hit a home run and started bragging, Maya and I ended up sitting on the bleachers, sharing a water bottle she'd brought.

"You know," she said, wiping sweat from her forehead, "it's kind of cool, what your dad does. Like, he literally connects people to the world."

I looked at her, surprised. "You think? I always thought it was kind of embarrassing."

"Why?" She tilted her head, and the sunset caught in her eyes. "At least your family actually does something useful. My dad's a 'consultant.' We don't even know what that means."

I laughed, and she laughed too, and for the first time all summer, I didn't feel like the cable guy's son. I just felt like a guy sitting next to a girl who got it.

"Hey," Maya said quietly. "You coming tomorrow? We're doing this again."

"Yeah," I said, and I meant it. "Definitely."