The Sphinx of Summer Storms

The pool party at Jenna's house was everything Maya dreaded. The popular kids sprawled across lounge chairs like they owned them, and somewhere inside, a cable box was blasting music that vibrated through the patio doors. Maya stood at the edge of the pool, clutching her towel like a shield, while Jenna—actual queen of sophomore year—held court from the diving board.

"You coming in or what?" Jenna called out, and suddenly all eyes were on Maya.

She'd been swimming since she was six, but suddenly her legs felt like lead. This was different from practice. This was the shark tank of high school social hierarchy, and she was fresh meat.

The first fat raindrop hit Maya's arm like a tiny electric shock. Then the sky opened up.

Everyone squealed and scrambled for the covered porch, but Maya stood frozen, mesmerized by the way the pool surface transformed from mirror to chaotic ripples. Lightning flashed—a jagged crack of white that turned everything monochrome for half a second—and in that moment, Jenna looked completely different. Not the untouchable sphinx who'd been giving Maya the side-eye all semester, but just another girl getting soaked in her favorite bikini.

"Are you crazy?" Jenna yelled over the thunder, grabbing Maya's arm. "Come inside before you get struck by—"

"By what? The social situation or actual lightning?" The words were out before Maya could stop them.

Jenna stared at her, and then she laughed. Actually laughed. "Both. Definitely both."

They spent the next hour curled up in Jenna's basement watching movies through a fuzzed-out cable connection while the storm raged outside. Jenna talked about how much she hated being the girl everyone expected things from. Maya confessed she'd been too scared to even say hi all year.

"You know," Jenna said, as the rain finally slowed, "you're the only person who's ever made me feel like less of a sphinx. Like I'm allowed to just be weird sometimes."

"Weird's better than perfect anyway," Maya said, and realized she actually believed it.

They exchanged numbers as Jenna's mom drove Maya home. As she stepped out of the car, lightning flickered across the sky one last time, soft and distant, like a promise that storms—even the terrifying ones—eventually pass.

Her phone buzzed: a text from Jenna. "Pool next week? No storm this time hopefully."

Maya grinned. Maybe high school wasn't completely impossible after all.