Three Seconds of Courage

Maya's fingers hovered over the send button, her iPhone screen glowing in the darkness of her bedroom. The message had been typed and deleted twelve times already.

u up?

No. Too desperate.

hey

Too casual.

The group chat from Jordan's party was still blowing up. Everyone posting pics, tagging each other, living their best lives while Maya sat at home overthinking everything. Her goldfish, Bubbles, stared at her from his bowl with what looked like judgment in his bulgy eyes.

"What would you do?" she asked him. "Just slide into the DMs like 'hey, I think you're cute and I'm socially awkward about it'?"

Bubbles blew a bubble. Maya sighed.

She'd been crushing on Alex since September, when they'd been assigned as partners in Mr. Harrison's English class. They'd become actual friend-friends, not just class-friends, which somehow made everything more terrifying. They talked about music and memes and how much they both hated group projects. Alex had even helped her rewrite her terrible poem about a lightning bolt that Mr. Harrison had called "confusingly abstract."

But that was the problem—they were too good at being friends. The friendzone wasn't just a place; it was a whole dimension where Maya had been living for months.

Her phone buzzed. A notification from Alex.

alex: party kinda sucks without u here

Maya's stomach did that thing where it felt like she'd swallowed a swarm of bees. She typed back before she could overthink it.

maya: miss u too

Three dots appeared immediately. Then disappeared. Then appeared again.

alex: i mean it

alex: like actually

maya: actually actually?

alex: can i come over? i'll sneak out

Maya's heart was going to hammer its way out of her chest. This was it. The moment every romcom had prepared her for, except now she was sweating through her hoodie and Bubbles was still watching like a weird fishy audience.

The message bubbles appeared: "i'm outside"

Maya grabbed her hoodie, checked her reflection in the dark phone screen—hair acceptable, face manageable—and crept downstairs. The living room clock read 11:47. Her parents would kill her if they caught her.

But Alex was standing on the porch, hands in pockets, looking up at the streetlamp like it held all the answers.

"Hey," Alex said.

"Hey."

"So I left the party."

"I noticed."

"Because I'd rather be here. With you."

The space between them suddenly felt charged, like the air before lightning strikes—electric and waiting. Alex stepped closer.

"I like you, Maya. Not as a friend-friend. As a like-like friend."

Maya laughed. "That was the smoothest thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up, I'm nervous."

"Me too," she said. "Me too."

Alex's hand found hers in the darkness, and Maya's goldfish could judge all he wanted. Some things were worth being brave for.