Thunderpool Thursday

Maya pulled her beanie **hat** down to her eyebrows, checking her reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was ninety degrees outside and she was definitely overdressed, but the hat was her armor. Across the street, Liam's house thumped with bass, and she could see kids already crowding around the in-ground **pool**.

"You're actually going?" Her little sister leaned in the doorway. "Wear normal clothes maybe?"

"Shut up, Sky."

Maya grabbed her phone—she'd forgotten her charging **cable** at Jordan's house yesterday, and she was at 12%. Classic. The anxiety kicked in. What if people tried to Snap her? What if she couldn't post the obligatory aesthetic mirror selfie?

The **lightning** flashed before she even made it out the door. Thunder cracked directly overhead. The July storm had rolled in fast, gray clouds swallowing the afternoon sky.

Half the party was already sprinting for cover when Maya arrived. She found herself squeezed onto the covered patio with everyone from sophomore English, damp and rumpled, someone's **spinach** artichoke dip from the snack table sitting abandoned on a folding table because the power had flickered and died.

Then her phone screen went black for real.

"Whatever," Maya muttered, and something in her chest unspooled. She couldn't doomscroll. Couldn't post. Couldn't check who was watching her not have fun.

Liam's older sister started an impromptu karaoke session with the remaining battery-powered speaker. Someone dared Maya to sing, and before she could overthink it, she grabbed the mic. Her hat came off. Her hair frizzed in the humidity. She didn't care.

She was halfway through an off-key rendition of some 2000s throwback when she caught Liam's eye across the patio. He was grinning. Not the cool-grin he gave everyone. The real one.

The rain kept falling. Her phone stayed dead. Maya danced in her oversized sweatshirt with spinach dip on her sleeve, and somehow, somehow, she was having the best night of her life.

She wasn't performing anymore. And for the first time since seventh grade, she didn't want to be anywhere else.