Thunder Strike Truth

Maya felt like a **zombie** as she leaned against the gym wall, three Red Bulls deep and running on two hours of sleep. Junior year was absolutely eating her alive, and yet here she was, at homecoming, because her friends insisted she couldn't miss "the most important social event of the semester."

She watched Julian across the room, effortlessly charming a group of seniors. For the past six weeks, Maya had been basically a social media **spy**, obsessively tracking his posts, analyzing his stories, trying to figure out if he ever noticed her existence. (He didn't. She'd checked. He'd liked her photos exactly zero times.)

"You look like you're plotting someone's murder," said Aisha, sliding up beside her. "Or possibly your own escape."

"Both," Maya muttered. "This is so fake. Everyone's performing, you know?"

Before Aisha could respond, the overhead lights flickered. Once. Twice. Then — BOOM. A massive **lightning** strike hit somewhere dangerously close, and the entire gym went pitch black.

Chaos erupted. People screamed. Someone's phone flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating Julian stumbling around like an idiot, calling out, "Yo, who's stepping on my J's?!"

In that moment of total darkness, Maya felt something shift. The pressure dropped. The performance stopped. Nobody could see anyone's perfect outfit or curated facial expression. It was just a bunch of scared, awkward teenagers in the dark.

She started laughing. Like, actually laughing. Aisha joined in. Then Julian, still trying to save his sneakers from invisible feet.

"You know what?" Maya said to Aisha, as emergency lights finally flickered on, casting everything in an eerie orange glow. "I'm done spying. I'm done faking it. I'm going home to sleep for twelve hours."

"Finally," Aisha grinned. "The zombie awakens."

Julian caught Maya's eye across the room and actually waved. A dorky, uncoordinated wave. Maybe real was better than perfect after all.