When Lightning Struck the Court

My hands wouldn't stop shaking. The stupid orange I'd eaten fifteen minutes before my first padel tournament with the varsity squad was probably a mistake. My stomach did cartwheels as I gripped my racquet, glancing at the bench where my iPhone sat like a lifeline I wasn't allowed to touch.

Coach had banned phones during practice. "Focus," he'd said, like focus was something you could just summon on command. But my eyes kept drifting to the bench anyway, to the tiny bear keychain dangling from my phone case — a ridiculous, battered thing my little sister had given me before she moved across the country with Dad. Sophomores didn't rock bear keychains. That was, like, middle school cringe.

"You gonna stare at your phone all day or actually hit the ball?" Jordan materialized beside me, all effortless confidence and windblown hair that somehow looked intentional instead of disastrous like mine. He was a junior. He was supposed to be untouchable.

"I'm not staring," I lied, way too fast.

Jordan's eyes dropped to the bench. "That your sister's?"

My face burned. "Yeah. She's in Oregon now."

"That's actually kind of dope, not gonna lie." He bumped my shoulder with his, and my brain short-circuited. "My little bro gave me this dumb shark necklace. I wear it under my jersey. Coach would kill me if he knew, but whatever."

The first real smile I'd felt all day tugged at my mouth.

Then lightning split the sky — so bright I saw spots, so close the air tasted like ozone.

"Everyone inside! NOW!" Coach's voice cracked through the courtyard.

We scrambled toward the gym, rain already plastering our hair to our skulls. Jordan grabbed my wrist as the storm opened up completely. "Your phone!"

"It's fine—"

"It's getting soaked, idiot."

He dragged me back to the bench, and we both grabbed for my phone at the same time. Our fingers collided, and for a second, everything — the rain, the lightning flashing again, the fact that I was about to play varsity padel with a junior who was actually talking to me — everything narrowed down to this moment.

He laughed, breathless, and shoved the phone into my hand. "Go. I've got your back."

The bear keychain swung from my wrist as we sprinted through the downpour toward the gym doors, and I thought: maybe sophomore year wouldn't be so terrible after all.