Here's the thing about umbrellas: they look cute in movies, but in real life, they're evil little wind-catching torture devices. At least, that was my thought as I stood on the corner of Maple Street, wrestling with mine while the rain turned me into a soggy disaster.

Another gust ripped through the street, flipping my umbrella inside out—again. This time, though, it wasn't just humiliating. The thing actually snapped, sending one of the spokes flying into a nearby puddle like a tiny harpoon.

"Need a hand before it gets violent?"

I turned toward the voice, ready to tell off whoever thought this was funny. But the words died in my throat. The guy standing under the flickering lamppost wasn't exactly what I expected. Dark curls plastered to his forehead, a busted skateboard under one arm, and a cocky smile on his face. He looked like trouble—the fun kind.

"I'm fine," I snapped, shoving my hair out of my face while pretending I hadn't just been insulted by my own umbrella.

He tilted his head, smirking. "Yeah, you look fine. Like an Olympic champion in umbrella wrestling."

I bit back a laugh because he wasn't wrong. The stupid thing had tangled itself around my wrist.

Before I could shoo him away, he strolled over and took the umbrella from my hand like it was no big deal. "May it rest in peace," he said solemnly, inspecting the bent metal frame.

"Don't worry, it's not a family heirloom," I said. "You can toss it."

With one smooth move, he folded the broken contraption and dropped it in the nearest trash can. "There. Now you're officially less dangerous." He grinned, pulling a slightly crumpled umbrella out of his bag. "Lucky for you, I come prepared."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is this your thing? Saving people from defective umbrellas?"

"Nah. Usually, I just crash into them on my skateboard." He extended the umbrella over both of us without asking. "I'm Liam, by the way."

"Ellie," I said, glancing up at him. His umbrella was barely holding on, the fabric sagging on one side like it had been through its own war, but it worked. For now.

"So, what's Ellie doing wandering around in a monsoon?" he asked as we started walking.

"Trying to get home. My bike chain snapped, and my dad forgot to pick me up because football is apparently more important than his only child," I said, a little more bitterly than I intended.

"Football? Yikes. Classic betrayal," he said with mock seriousness. "Where's home?"

"Three blocks that way," I pointed, trying to ignore the way his shoulder kept brushing mine as we huddled under the umbrella.

"Well, good news for you, my rescue fee only costs a thank-you."

I laughed despite myself. "Do you accept sarcasm instead?"

"Preferred currency, actually," he said.

As we trudged through puddles, Liam kept up a steady stream of jokes—most of them terrible, all of them weirdly charming. He pointed out a storm drain he once skateboarded into ("Not on purpose"), compared my soaked hoodie to a drowned raccoon, and nearly convinced me he had a pet ferret named Rascal ("Okay, fine, it's a goldfish").

By the time we reached my street, the rain had softened into a mist, though my shoes still squelched with every step.

"This is me," I said, pointing at my house.

Liam handed me the umbrella. "Keep it. I'll trade it for my skateboard some other time."

"You're just handing out umbrellas to random people?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged. "What can I say? I'm a philanthropist. Besides, I like running in the rain."

"Well, thanks, Umbrella Philanthropist," I said, holding the lopsided thing above my head.

Liam grinned, stepping backward toward the street. "Anytime, Ellie. Oh, and by the way…" He pointed at my hoodie. "You're definitely a soaked raccoon. But like, a cute one."

And just like that, he was gone, splashing down the street like the rain didn't even bother him.

I stood there, shaking my head with a smile I couldn't fight off. I'd never been much for clichés, but maybe sparks really could fly in the rain. Or at least, leave you a little breathless.