When the Sky Split Open

Zara felt like a total creep, basically a glorified spy watching from the bushes. Every day after school, she'd linger by the drama room door, just hoping to catch a glimpse of Kai practicing his lines. Pathetic, right? Like her social life couldn't get any more tragic.

Then came the afternoon Mr. Harrison announced spring play callbacks. Zara's stomach did that horrible swooping thing — same as when she'd accidentally posted a screenshot with her search history visible. She'd never auditioned for anything in her life. But Kai was going for the lead, and suddenly she was signing her name on the callback sheet like her hands had a death wish.

"You're auditioning?" Maya, her best friend since kindergarten, practically choked on her orange Fanta. "You, who hyperventilates when the teacher calls on you in class?"

"People change, Maya," Zara said, though she was definitely going to throw up.

The auditorium smelled like floor wax and teen anxiety. Zara's palms were sweating so much she kept nearly dropping her script. When Mr. Harrison called her name, she walked to the stage like she was marching toward her execution.

Then she saw Kai in the front row, smiling at her like she actually belonged there.

Something unlocked in her chest. The words flowed out of her mouth, surprising even herself. She delivered the monologue with a fierceness she didn't know she had, and when she finished, the room went silent before exploding into applause.

Outside, the sky had turned that weird orange color that only happens before storms, everything saturated and electric. Kai caught up with her by the bike racks.

"You were amazing," he said, and his smile was the realest thing she'd seen all year. "We should run lines together sometime."

Lightning cracked the sky in half, and Zara understood something she'd been missing for sixteen years: she wasn't watching from the sidelines anymore. She was part of the story now.