Thunder Pool Party

Jordan's phone buzzed with the third text in five minutes. 'Pool party @ Kai's. U coming?'

He wasn't. Parties weren't his thing. Neither was pools, actually. Jordan couldn't swim. At sixteen, this was approximately as embarrassing as still believing in Santa Claus or admitting you watched Cocomelon unironically.

'Maybe,' he typed back, knowing 'maybe' meant 'absolutely not unless suddenly my entire personality transformed overnight.'

His cat, Mr. Whiskers, jumped onto his desk and knocked over his energy drink. "Bro, not cool," Jordan muttered, grabbing napkins. The cat purred like he'd just won a medal for Being A Menace.

Outside, lightning cracked across the sky. The weather app said 'severe thunderstorm warning' which meant perfect excuse to stay home and finally finish his gaming stream without judgment.

He was secretly a mildly popular streamer—like, 500 followers mild. His parents thought he was 'studying.' His friends thought he was 'chilling.' No one knew that 'NeonNerd007' was actually Jordan, the quiet kid who sat in the back of algebra.

That's when the cable died.

Not just the internet cable—everything. The TV cable, the phone line, all of it. A power line must have gone down somewhere, and Jordan's entire digital existence vanished.

His phone still had data, though. And one notification: Kai had posted a photo from the party. Jordan's crush, Sam, was there. Looking annoyingly perfect.

Fine. He'd go. So what if he couldn't swim? He could stand in the shallow end like a normal person with dignity.

Mr. Whiskers followed him to the door.

"You're not invited," Jordan said. The cat disagreed, and bolted outside.

Jordan chased him through the rain—because of course the storm had to happen NOW—across two yards until Mr. Whiskers slipped through someone's fence.

That someone's fence turned out to be Kai's backyard.

Jordan, now soaked, with cat fur somehow plastered to his shirt, had to walk through the party to retrieve his cat who was currently hissing at pool floaties.

"Jordan?" Sam waved from the pool. "Everything good?"

"Just. Saving. My cat."

Mr. Whiskers, now dubbed 'Party Whiskers' by someone's drunk uncle, was being passed around like a furry trophy. Jordan finally grabbed him, dripping wet, and turned to leave.

"Wait," Sam said. "You're leaving? The cable's out everywhere. No one's phones are working. We're all just hanging out."

Jordan paused. "I can't swim."

Sam laughed. "Neither can half the people here. We're just chilling. You should stay."

Jordan stood there, holding his chaotic cat, while lightning flashed overhead and rain plastered his hair to his forehead.

"Fine," he said. "But I'm not going in the deep end."

"Deal," Sam said, and handed Jordan a towel.

Sometimes the worst moments become the best stories. And sometimes your cat is a better wingman than you'll ever be.