Thunderpool

The humidity was absolute trash that July evening. I was supposed to be at Austin's pool party—literally everyone was going—but I was curled on my bedroom floor,情报ing on his Instagram stories instead. Pathetic? Maybe. But when you've been in love with your best friend since seventh grade and he's suddenly popular now, you develop certain habits.

I scrolled past another photo: Austin, chest-deep in the pool, some random girl's arm draped around his neck. My stomach did that thing where it feels like it's sinking into itself. I'm not a stalker, okay? Just... vigilantly aware.

Then lightning flashed outside my window, close enough that the whole house shook. My phone buzzed.

AUSTIN: Dude, where r u?? Party's actually kinda weird without you

I froze. Was he being serious or just polite? That's the thing with Austin—you never can tell.

The backyard fence was locked, but there was this gap behind the oak tree where the wood had rotted through. I'd been sneaking through it since I was twelve. I pulled on my hoodie and slipped into the rainy dark.

When I pushed through the bushes, the pool area was empty. Everyone was inside. Everyone except Austin, who was sitting alone on the pool edge, feet in the water, staring up at the sky where lightning kept cracking.

"Hey," I said, and he jumped so hard he almost fell in.

"Fox!" He laughed. "You scared the actual crap out of me."

Fox. Nobody called me that anymore. It was this dumb nickname from third grade when I'd convinced the whole class I was part Japanese. My last name is Fawkes. The irony wasn't lost on anyone.

"Sorry," I said. "Your text—"

"Yeah." He looked at me then, really looked at me. "I'm glad you came."

Something shifted in the air, heavier than the humidity. "Why?"

"Because." Austin kicked water up with his heel. "I'm tired of pretending I'm someone I'm not. These people, this party—it's not me. You're the only one who actually knows me, Fox."

Lightning flashed again, illuminating everything in stark white—the pool's rippling surface, the water droplets on his eyelashes, the way his hand moved closer to mine on the concrete.

"You can't just say stuff like that and expect me to be cool about it," I whispered.

"Then don't be cool about it." He turned fully toward me. "Just be here. With me."

My heart was doing gymnastics. "You're ruining everything."

"Good," he said, and leaned in.

His lips were warm from the summer air and his hand was cold from the pool and the whole universe narrowed down to lightning, water, and the way he said my real name like it meant everything.

Sometimes the things you're情报ing on turn out to be情报ing on you too.