When Lightning Split the Sky Open

I'd been running for twenty minutes straight, my lungs burning like I'd swallowed fire, but I couldn't stop. Not with what I just heard.

"She said WHAT about me?" I panted, veering off the trail into the dense tropical brush behind Kiana's house.

"Maya, stop!" Jordan grabbed my arm, his sneakers crunching on fallen leaves. "It's not that deep—"

"Not that deep?" I yanked away. "That's my best friend. My *former* best friend, apparently."

We'd stumbled into someone's backyard—probably Kiana's neighbor's, judging by the mango trees drooping with fruit. But it was the papaya tree that caught my eye, its strange pear-shaped fruit hanging like alien green lanterns.

"You gonna cry again?" Jordan sighed, leaning against the papaya tree like some sad birch. "You cried at lunch yesterday too."

"Shut up, Jordan."

"Like, I get it. Kiana's been weird since she started hanging with the cheer squad. But you're out here running marathons in the humidity like it's gonna fix something."

"I run to clear my head. You wouldn't get it."

"Bro, I'm literally on track team with you."

We stared at each other—sweaty, miserable, and suddenly laughing because it was all so stupid. The humidity, the drama, the fact that we were hiding behind a stranger's fruit trees like middle schoolers.

Then lightning cracked the sky open—not that distant stuff you see from your bedroom window. This was right overhead, a blinding white fork that shook the ground beneath our feet. Thunder followed like the sky was ripping apart.

"We're gonna die," Jordan yelled, grabbing my hand and pulling me toward the house. "Your old papaya hiding spot is NOT safe during an electrical storm!"

We bolted, running harder than I'd ever run at practice, laughing and terrified all at once. By the time we collapsed onto Kiana's covered porch, we were soaked and breathless.

"Kiana's been weird," I said between gasps, wiping rain from my face. "But maybe she's allowed to be. Maybe I'm the one making it weird."

"Finally," Jordan said, squeezing my shoulder. "Growth. We love to see it."

"Shut up."

"No, for real though—you good?"

I thought about it—really thought about it—while lightning continued to paint the sky purple beyond the porch railing.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I'm good."