The Signal in the Static

Maya's fingers hovered over the send button, her iPhone screen glowing in the darkness of her bedroom. The cable connecting it to the wall was frayed at the ends—a sad little worm of charging desperation that only worked if you bent it at a precise thirty-degree angle.

"You're not actually going to send that, are you?"

Maya practically jumped out of her skin. Chloe stood in the doorway, Maya's younger sister, holding their cat, Mochi, like a furry baby. Mochi's golden eyes judged Maya silently.

"It's just a text to Jordan," Maya said, defensive. "About the baseball game tomorrow."

"It's not JUST a text. You've been rewriting it for forty-five minutes. I timed you." Chloe dropped Mochi on the bed, where the cat immediately began making biscuits on Maya's comforter. "Also, Jordan plays baseball. He doesn't need you to explain what a baseball game is."

Maya groaned and buried her face in her hands. Being fourteen was like walking through a room full of mousetraps blindfolded. Everything felt huge and terrible and wonderful all at once, and she couldn't tell if Jordan—the cute sophomore with the perfect swing and the way he looked at her in homeroom—was even interested, or if she was reading into things because she WANTED him to be interested.

The cable slipped from its perfect angle. Her iPhone screen went black.

"NO!" Maya lunged for it, but it was too late. The draft—the perfect, casual, cool draft—was gone.

Chloe was laughing. "That's the universe telling you to just BE YOURSELF, Maya. God, you freshmen make everything so complicated."

"You're literally in seventh grade."

"Exactly. I know everything." Chloe scooped up Mochi and sauntered out. "Also, I heard Jordan asking his friends what your name was yesterday. So maybe calm down."

The door clicked shut.

Maya sat there in the dark, heart pounding, and then she grabbed her baseball cap from the shelf—the one she'd worn to every game since she was seven, back when she still thought she might play someday. She grabbed her backpack. She'd just show up early. Help set up. BE there.

That's what you did, right? You showed up. You didn't hide behind screens.

Mochi slipped back in through the crack in the door and wound around her ankles, purring like a tiny motor.

"Yeah, okay," Maya whispered to the cat. "We got this."