They say eyes can't keep secrets. So look closely

The One Percent Rule

The vibe in the 2016 Honda Civic was immaculate, but my internal panic meter was screaming at a solid ten.

I was on a third date with Maya. This is the danger zone in modern dating. The first date is the vibe check. The second is to confirm the first wasn’t a fluke. The third? The third is where you either delete Hinge or you get "ghosted" into oblivion.

We had just picked up late-night tacos from a food truck in Austin and driven up to Mount Bonnell to eat with a view. It was a classic move. A little cliché? Sure. But Maya seemed into it. She was scrolling through Spotify on my phone, which was plugged into the auxiliary cord, DJing the soundtrack to what I hoped would be our first real kiss.

Then, the catastrophe struck.

"Hey, Liam," Maya said, tapping the screen. "Why is your phone at 2%?"

My stomach dropped. My phone wasn’t just a phone; it was my GPS home, my wallet (Apple Pay), and currently, the source of the Frank Ocean track that was single-handedly carrying the romantic atmosphere.

"Oh, no shot," I muttered, glancing at the dashboard. "The cable is finicky. You have to hold it at a weird angle."

"Classic," she laughed, taking a bite of her taco. "Do you want me to hold it?"

"No, no, I got it. You enjoy the view."

I didn’t want to admit that the charging port on my phone was filled with lint and sadness, or that the gas station cable I bought for $5 required the precision of a bomb defusal expert to work.

The music cut out. Silence filled the car, replaced only by the distant hum of the city below and the sound of my own rising anxiety. The screen went black.

"RIP," Maya joked.

"Give me a sec," I said, determined. "I know the trick."

Maya finished her taco and opened her door. "I’m gonna step out and stretch my legs. It’s actually really pretty out here. Don’t take too long, or I’m stealing the car."

She stepped out into the cool Texas night, leaving me alone in the dimly lit front seat. I looked at my phone. It was a brick. A useless glass brick. If I didn’t get this thing charged, I couldn’t call an Uber if the car broke down (which was likely), and more importantly, I couldn’t play the specific "Drive Home" playlist I had curated for three hours last night.

I grabbed the connector cable. It was stiff and frayed. I tried jamming it in. Nothing.

I blew into the port like it was a Nintendo cartridge from 1990. I tried again. Nothing.

"Come on, you piece of junk," I whispered, sweating.

I realized the angle was wrong. The cable needed to be twisted upward, and the phone needed to be propped against the gear shift. I shifted my body, maneuvering around the center console. It was tight. The gear stick was digging into my ribs.

I was practically straddling the center console now, grunting with effort, trying to force the connector to make contact with the internal pins. To an outside observer—say, through a fogged-up window—my silhouette probably looked incredibly suspicious. My rhythmic jerking motions as I tried to jam the cable in didn't help.

I needed leverage. I grabbed the phone—the "body" of the problem—with both hands.

I spun its body around. Then, I thrust into that small, tight hole, and suddenly its body vibrated violently... I was just trying to charge my phone when a text came in.

Buzz. Buzz.

The screen lit up! A wave of dopamine hit my brain. The text notification on the lock screen was from my best friend, Dave: "Did u seal the deal yet bro??"

"Yes!" I shouted, victorious.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

The sound of knuckles on glass shattered my celebration.

A flashlight beam blinded me. I froze. My hand was still gripping the phone and cable near my lap, my body contorted in a weird, hunched position over the center console.

I rolled down the window. A police officer was standing there, looking unamused. Behind him, Maya was standing with her arms crossed, looking equally confused but mostly trying not to laugh.

"Everything okay in there, son?" the officer asked, his voice thick with judgment. "We patrol this area for... lewd behavior. Your girlfriend outside said you were just fixing the radio, but it looked like you were wrestling a python in here."

My face went hotter than the car engine. I looked at the cop, then at Maya, then at the phone in my lap.

"Officer, I swear," I stammered. "It’s... it’s the charger."

" The charger?" He raised an eyebrow.

"Yes! It’s broken. I had to... maneuver it." I realized how bad this sounded. "I spun its body around... the phone's body! And I thrust the cable into the hole... the charging port! And then it vibrated! Because of the text!"

I held up the phone as evidence. The screen was glowing, showing Dave’s text: Did u seal the deal yet bro??

The officer read the text. He looked at me. He looked at Maya.

Maya burst out laughing. Not a polite giggle, but a full-on snort-laugh.

"He's telling the truth, Officer," Maya said, wiping a tear from her eye. "He’s just really, really bad with technology. And apparently, phrasing."

The cop sighed, shaking his head. A small grin cracked his stern face. "Alright. Get that battery charged and get out of here. And maybe buy a new cable, kid. You look ridiculous."

"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir."

The officer walked back to his cruiser. Maya slid back into the passenger seat, still giggling.

"So," she said, buckling her seatbelt as I reversed the car. "'Thrust into the small tight hole'? Really?"

I buried my face in the steering wheel. "I am never speaking again. I’m moving to a monastery. No technology. No girls."

Maya reached over and rested her hand on my arm. "Hey, look on the bright side."

"What bright side? I just humiliated myself in front of the Austin PD and my date."

"Well," she smiled, pointing at the dashboard where my phone was now playing the first song of my playlist. "The phone is charging. And honestly? It was kind of cute."

I looked at her. "Cute? Me looking like a pervert in a Honda Civic is cute?"

"It gives you character," she teased. "Plus, now you have a great story for the fourth date."

I paused. "Fourth date?"

She grabbed my hand. "Drive, Liam. Before the battery dies again."

I put the car in drive, the embarrassment fading into relief. The "One Percent Rule" had almost killed me, but somehow, I think it actually saved the night.

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