The Storm We Swam Through

Maya's stomach did backflips as she stepped onto the padel court. The sneakers she'd begged her mom for were already giving her blisters, but that wasn't the real problem.

The real problem was Jake, leaning against the fence with that effortless grin that made every girl in our grade forget their own names. He'd signed up for the tournament too. Great. Just great.

"You nervous?" Jake asked, swinging his racket like he'd been born holding one.

"No," Maya lied, adjusting her ponytail for the seventeenth time. "Just ready to crush you."

"Bet you can't," he shot back. "Loser has to carry home the prize."

The prize: a plastic bag containing the world's most depressed-looking goldfish, fished from the dunk tank at the school carnival. Mr. Bubbles. The principal had thought this was hilarious. Maya did not.

The game was tied 19-19 when the sky turned that weird greenish color that means absolute chaos is incoming. Coach blew the whistle—everyone inside, NOW.

Maya grabbed her gear, but her feet slipped on the wet pavement. She went down hard, right into a puddle that was basically a small lake at this point.

Jake's hand appeared in her face. "You good?"

She looked up at him, rain plastering his hair to his forehead. Something flashed behind his eyes—something real.

"I'm—" A crack of **lightning** split the sky, so bright it left spots in her vision. Thunder shook the ground.

"Come on!" Jake yanked her up, and they ran for the pool clubhouse. The other players were already inside, but the door was jammed.

"We're not gonna make it," Maya yelled over the rain.

"Yes we are!" Jake grabbed her hand. "Jump in!"

"What?"

"The pool! Trust me!"

They leaped.

The water was shockingly cold, shocking in the best way. Maya surfaced, sputtering, to find Jake already treading water beside her, laughing so hard he was coughing.

"You're insane!" she splashed him.

"You're the one who jumped!" He splashed back.

They stayed like that, **swimming** in circles as the storm raged around them, Mr. Bubbles' bag floating on the surface between them like some tiny orange oracle. Jake's hair was plastered to his forehead. Maya's mascara was definitely running down her face. Neither of them cared.

"So," Jake said, paddling closer. "About that goldfish."

Maya laughed. "We're keeping it."

"Joint custody?"

"Joint custody."

The storm passed as fast as it had arrived. They got out shivering, teeth chattering, wet clothes and ruined shoes and a plastic bag with a fish that had somehow survived both the dunk tank and a hurricane.

Maya's sneakers were ruined. Her hair was a disaster. She'd probably lost the tournament.

But as Jake walked her home, their shoulders bumping every few steps, Mr. Bubbles swishing between them, she thought maybe—just maybe—she'd won something better.

"Same time next week?" Jake asked at her door.

Maya grinned. "Try not to drown this time."