Thunder and Orange Soda

The party was already dead when I got there. Okay, maybe not dead-dead, but definitely in that awkward limbo state where half the people were pretending to have fun and the other half were already plotting their exit strategies. I stood by the punch bowl — which was literally just **orange** soda and something that looked suspiciously like dish soap — and tried to look like I belonged.

Marcus spotted me from across the room. That **dog**. I'd been crushing on him since seventh grade, and he still didn't know my name. Probably. He was surrounded by his usual crowd, all loud laughter and inside jokes that I'd never be part of. Classic high school hierarchy at work.

"Hey, you're in my English class, right?" Some girl appeared beside me. I think her name was Riley. She had this sly **fox**-like smile that made me wonder if she was about to prank me or actually be nice for once.

"Yeah, AP Lang with Mr. Henderson." I took a sip of the questionable orange soda. "You're sitting behind me, always kicking my chair."

"My bad." She didn't sound sorry at all. "You going to Jordan's thing tomorrow? Everyone's saying it's gonna be lit."

The truth was, my parents would never let me go. But saying that out loud felt like admitting defeat. So I just shrugged. "Maybe."

**Lightning** flashed outside, illuminating the whole living room in this strobe-light effect that made everything look weirdly cinematic for a second. Someone screamed — playful, not scared — and the energy shifted. Suddenly the awkward limbo broke. People started dancing, or at least, that thing we do at house parties where we kind of sway and pretend we know what we're doing.

Marcus moved toward me, and my stomach did that traitorous flip thing. Riley raised an eyebrow at me, knowingly. For the first time all night, I didn't feel like the awkward kid who didn't belong.

Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad after all.