Thunder Strike at Sarah's Party

My fedora was supposed to be iconic. Instead, it was the reason I currently stood alone against a wall at Sarah Miller's rager, nursing lukewarm soda like some kind of sad mascot. I'd thrifted it yesterday thinking I'd pull off TikTok boy energy, but apparently I just looked like I was about to perform magic tricks.

Then I spotted Chloe—my Chloe, the one who'd barely glanced my way since eighth grade—standing by the sliding glass door. She wore this vintage denim jacket over a slip dress, looking like she belonged in a music video while I belonged in a comedy.

I had to bear this humiliation alone. I considered chucking the hat into the nearest bush, but my mom had paid seven dollars for it and I'd promised to actually wear something I bought.

A crash of thunder shook the house. Someone screamed. The party music died as everyone rushed to the windows. Lightning fractured the sky, illuminating the backyard in flashes.

"Cool, right?" I said to nobody.

Chloe materialized beside me. "That hat is kind of terrible, honestly."

I laughed. "I know. My mom's going to be so glad I finally wore it."

"At least you committed." She leaned closer. "I'm Chloe, by the way. We were in Mr. Henderson's class together."

"I know who you are." The words slipped out before I could stop them.

She grinned, and in the next lightning flash, I saw something in her expression that made my chest do something completely unmanageable. "Bold tonight."

"Bold choice of hat, you mean."

"Same difference." She nudged my shoulder. "Wanna get out of here? This party's giving me anxiety."

I looked around at all the people I'd spent weeks trying to impress. Then I looked at Chloe, in her perfect jacket, waiting for my answer.

"Yes," I said.

We slipped out the side door into the storm, my stupid hat catching rain like a bowl. We walked to the park in silence, getting absolutely soaked, and somewhere between the third lightning strike and her hand accidentally brushing mine, I realized something important: sometimes the most embarrassing parts of you are exactly what someone else finds worth noticing.