When the Storm Broke

I'd been a zombie for three weeks straight. Junior year will do that to you — between AP Chem, debate club, and my mom's gentle reminders that 'colleges are watching,' I was running on caffeine and panic. So when Jake said I should try out for padel club with him, I said yes before my brain could process what padel even was.

Turns out? It's tennis's cooler, less pretentious cousin. And I was terrible at it.

'You're thinking too hard,' Jake called from across the court, grinning like he wasn't absolutely destroying me 6-0. 'Just hit the thing, Marcus.'

Easy for him to say. Jake was everything I wasn't: effortless, athletic, the kind of guy who could show up to school having rolled out of bed five minutes earlier and still look like a Pinterest aesthetic. Meanwhile, I'd spent twenty minutes this morning deciding which hoodie said 'I'm trying but not TRYING trying.'

Then came the lightning — one flash, then a crack that shook the metal walls of the rec center. The overhead lights flickered and died, plunging us into grey twilight.

'Everyone out!' the coach yelled. 'Storm's moving fast!'

We grabbed our gear and sprinted to the parking lot, rain already sheeting down. Jake's mom was picking him up, but I'd walked. Great. Just great.

I texted my dad, but no reception. Typical. I huddled under the overhang, watching the storm turn the sky purple and green, feeling small and stupid and very much alone.

That's when I heard it — a familiar whine from the woods behind the court. No way.

'Buster?' I called into the rain.

A golden blur shot out of the trees, shaking water everywhere like his own personal splash pad. My dog, who'd been missing for two days after bolting during our neighbor's fireworks show, stood there tail-wagging, like he'd just gone on a casual adventure.

I dropped to my knees, not caring about the mud or my hoodie or anything, really. He licked my face, and I started laughing-crying, this ugly snorty sound that was definitely not chill.

'Everything okay?' Jake's voice cut through.

He was still there, standing by his mom's car, watching us. He wasn't laughing. He was just... watching.

'Yeah,' I called back, scratching Buster's ears. 'Yeah. Everything's actually okay.'

And the weird thing was, I meant it. The zombie feeling had evaporated. Sometimes it takes getting caught in a storm with your missing dog to remember what actually matters. Padel skills? Not even close to the list.