The Cable We Couldn't Cut

I was officially a creep. A certified low-key stalker. For the third time tonight, I'd refreshed Chloe's Instagram story, watching her live her best life at Tyler's party without me. The caption said "squad goals" which, like, OW?

Outside my bedroom window, lightning cracked the sky purple, and then the house went dark. WiFi gone. Universe telling me to stop being a literal spy on my ex-best-friend's life.

I scrambled for my phone charger, fumbling in the dark until I found the cable. Plugged it in, because priorities. 4% battery. Emergency.

"Maya? You okay in there?" My mom's voice through the door.

"I'm FINE," I called back, lying through my teeth. Everything wasn't fine. Everything was THE WORST.

Three weeks ago, Chloe and I were joined at the hip. We'd spent every Friday night since seventh grade having movie marathons, plotting our escape from this tiny town, laughing until our parents told us to keep it down. We'd pinky-promised at the start of freshman year that nothing would come between us.

Then came Tyler. Then came the party invite that didn't include me. Then came three weeks of silence, me feeling like I was watching from behind glass while she upgraded her friend roster.

My phone dinged. A text. From HER.

*Chloe: r u mad at me*

I stared at those words like they were written in alien language. Mad? MAD? I was absolutely spiraling, but mad wasn't the word.

Lightning flashed again, illuminating the poster on my wall — me and Chloe at the beach last summer, arms around each other, grinning like we owned the world. We were supposed to be each other's maid of honor. We were supposed to grow old and be those cool grandmas who gave zero cares.

Another text: *miss you*

The air left my chest. I typed back: *you could have called*

*i didn't know how* came the reply. *thought you hated me for hanging with tyler*

I literally sat up in bed. She thought I hated HER? When I'd been refreshing her stories like a maniac?

*i never hated you* I typed. *i thought you forgot about me*

*never* she sent back instantly. *you're my person. always have been*

The next text hit my screen: *can i come over?*

*yesss*

Twenty minutes later, someone knocked on my door. Chloe stood there in the rain, her hair soaked, her makeup smudged, holding a bag of Cheetos and her phone charger like she was bringing peace offerings to a war.

"I brought the flamin' hot ones," she said, like that explained everything. "Also I'm an idiot."

"You're not an idiot." I stepped aside. "But you're KIND of sus for ghosting me for three weeks."

"I know!" She flopped onto my bed, already stealing my pillow. "I thought you moved on! I thought you found new people! I was having major anxiety about it and then I overthought everything and then it had been SO LONG that I didn't know how to fix it and—"

"You're such a dramatist," I laughed, but my chest felt lighter than it had in weeks.

"I'm literally THE worst at confrontation. You know this."

"True. Remember when you cried because that barista didn't say thank you?"

"DON'T bring that up, I was having a DAY."

She pulled her charging cable from her pocket. "We can't keep doing this, you know. Being weird about everything."

"I know."

"Best friends don't let miscommunication situationship them into strangers." She said it so seriously that I snorted, then she started cracking up too.

"Did you just use 'situationship' incorrectly on purpose?"

"Maybe." She smirked. "Also Tyler is literally mid, I don't know why I made him a thing."

"Chloe."

"What! He is!"

We stayed up until 3 AM, eating Cheetos and watching bad reality TV and laughing so hard my mom had to tell us to keep it down AGAIN. Some things never changed.

The next morning, I looked at my phone. The story from last night was gone, replaced with a new one: me and Chloe at 2 AM, making stupid faces at the camera. The caption: *my person. always.*

I screenshot it immediately. Some cables are worth holding onto, even when they get tangled. Especially then.