Thunder in My Chest

The party at Maya's house was already lit when I arrived, fashionably late but mostly just terrified. My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip my phone. This was it — my first real high school party. No parents, just juniors and seniors and cheap soda.

I headed straight for the backyard, needing air. That's when I saw the orange tabby cat on the fence. It looked at me like it knew exactly how out of place I felt.

"You too, huh?" I whispered.

Then I saw her — Chloe, the girl from my English class who actually laughed at my jokes before realizing nobody else did. She was standing by the sliding glass door, holding a solo cup, looking as awkward as I felt.

Before I could even process what I was doing, I was walking toward her. My heart was doing that thing where it feels like lightning is striking your chest over and over.

"Hey," I said. Smooth. Really smooth.

"Hey," she said back, and smiled. "Hiding?"

"Always."

We talked for twenty minutes about nothing and everything — how weird it was that people acted different when certain people were around, how we both hated that our parents thought we were "going through phases" when we dyed our hair, how neither of us understood why everyone made such a big deal about prom.

Then someone inside screamed, the music cut, and suddenly everyone was running toward the back door. Maya's brother had somehow set off the fire alarm trying to impress someone with a magic trick.

Chloe grabbed my hand. "Want to get out of here?"

We ended up at the park down the street, sitting on the swings as the cat from earlier wound itself between our feet. The night sky was clearing, and somewhere in the distance, actual lightning flickered behind the clouds.

"This is better anyway," she said.

"Yeah," I agreed. "Way better."

My phone buzzed — my mom asking where I was. But for the first time, I didn't feel like running back to safety. I stayed right there, palm to palm with someone who finally got it, watching the storm roll in.