What Thunder left behind by DT Martin Intermission Commons
Maple Tree The Commons claimed by late warmth carried the faint
perfume of damp grass and exhaust drifting from Mass Ave.
Students scattered across the green in loose knots, laptops
glowing, while a few dared to sprawl barefoot against the
roots of the old Maple that anchored the lawn, its shadow
pulled wide, striped by sunlight slanting through restless leaves
beneath it. Tammy Wong slipped off her shoes
and curled her toes into the grass while James Martinez
leaned back against the bark, hood half up, and studied
carelessness. You ever notice?
James said, pencil tapping against his notebook.
That linear algebra reads like scripture, all ritual until
someone tells you the secret translation.
Tammy made a small sound of amusement and rifled her econ
notes. You complain in calculus and
then turn algebra into theology. James, your range is
questionable. He lifted his chin, mock a
front, taking his expression. Questionable, but very
charismatic. She snatched a blade of grass
and flicked it. It snagged in his curls.
You are hopeless. I'm endearing, Tammy.
He answered, eyes warm. Laughter came to them without
effort, they needed no explanations.
They were two friends who existed together without needing
a reason. For a while, the green felt
forgiving, filled with harmless noise.
Tammy stretched out, notebook abandoned, eyes tracing clouds
that pressed pale edges into the sky.
James hummed A discordant tune, his knee bouncing against the
trees roots. The easy mood thinned when Tammy
lowered her voice. She looked pale again today.
She inhaled slowly. Lily.
James's posture tightened. Yeah, I saw her shoulders rigid
the whole class. That lab is grinding her down.
She barely sleeps, and when she does, I hear her grinding her
teeth through the night. Tammy drew her knees close,
folding her arms around them. Steven keeps pressing too much.
I thought working together might balance things, but it's pulling
her thin. James turned his body toward
her, seriousness clearing his face.
How are you feeling about the breakup?
Tammy exhaled and let a small smile come brittle, then
settling. I've been OK, you know, it's
been a week. Things have been unraveling for
weeks. There, I finally said it out
loud. He wants to control outcomes
more than people, James. I want careless laughter and
someone who trips on their words with me above.
Them. The Maple shivered, the leaves
cutting sunlight into bright coins.
James opened his hand and then closed it again.
You deserve someone who argues about ice cream flavors with
you, not algorithms. Her mouth softened.
He's brilliant and with Lily, well, they might make an
excellent team. Still, it hurts to watch Lily
bend to him. James nodded, A steadying
motion. I never trusted Steven.
Lily's different. She helped me with math I'd have
drowned in. We'll help her draw her lines.
They sat in companionable hush while the Commons hummed around
them. Tammy angled until her shoulder
rested on his elbow. James kept his posture loose,
not shifting away. Promise me.
She murmured. If she falls too hard, we'll be
there to catch her. He leaned his forehead to hers
for a beat. Always.
The Charles murmurs. Beyond the quad, a bike bell
chirps, and someone cheers once from a pickup game downriver.
Tammy let the silence linger, then nudged his arm with a soft
touch. So you've been glowing lately.
Spill it. James blinked, then a grin
spread across his face, brightening his expression.
Carter. Her eyes brightened, finally.
Give me details. He dropped his gaze, curls
falling forward. First kiss last night near
Killian Court by the steps to the Charles.
You know where the Dome throws light on the water?
I know the place. Her smile opened.
James's voice thinned with the memory.
We were walking back from the lab, late stars over the water.
He kept talking about bridges and resonance stuff that should
have gone right past me, but it didn't.
It was calming. We stopped at the railing.
He looked at me, I looked at him, and it wasn't even a
decision. Just happened slow and so
careful. It was like the river carried
everything else away. Tommy covered her mouth with a
hand in mock swoon. James Martinez, the romantic
lead? Who knew?
He gave a low, rueful chuckle, cheeks warming.
It wasn't so much fireworks as it was like chords of music I
didn't know I was humming going off in my head.
His lips tasted like sunlight and a warm breeze running
through your hair. Magical.
Tammy tipped her head. Wow James, that must have been
some kiss. James's grin widened.
Exactly. Afterwards, we couldn't stop
laughing and he grabbed my hand and didn't let go.
All the way across the quad, you know, we kept arguing about who
leaned first, who tilted wrong, and who nearly ruined the angle.
It was like the kiss turned into a contest.
Tammy cocked an eyebrow, chin settling on her hand.
So tell me, who leaned on 1st? He rubbed his jaw with the pat
of his thumb. Fine me, but he misjudged the
tilt so I call it a draw. Her smile broke open.
Only you 2 would compare a kiss. James smoothed his palm against
the grass beneath him. Yeah, maybe.
But on the walk back he kept pointing things out, like the
wind off the Charles rattling the lamp poles, how they sang if
you listened. Oh God, he was really romantic.
He compared it to resonance in a bridge, said the city hums on
its own if you stop long enough to hear it.
And Tam, it wasn't technical. He wanted me to hear it like he
was hearing it. That's what got me.
Tammy traced a spiral in the dirt with a fingertip.
And Carter makes poetry out of steel.
I like that. James pressed his fingers into
the soil, as if anchoring the memory.
Every time I squeezed his hand, he met my squeeze like a check
in. We talked about small things,
how he takes his coffee too strong, how I mismatch my socks
to annoy people. He told me I move like I'm
improvising. I told him he plans like he
sketches cathedrals. He smiled at the memory.
Tammy He laughed at that, and his laughter was just, oh, it
filled the night. I felt like he wanted me in his
plans. Her voice took on a steady
warmth. Then you are.
You don't talk that way unless you're all in with someone.
A breath escaped him. By the time we reached his door,
everything felt lighter. I didn't have to wonder anymore
if I was wanted. I knew.
The sun slips behind the great Dome, and the Maple inhales a
cool, sudden gold. James turned to her, a grin
softening his face. Don't laugh, but I've started
writing him a song. Tammy's eyes widened.
Then she adopted mock severity. James Martinez serenading boys
by the river. I should have seen this coming.
He covered his face with a hand and shook his head.
Tammy. She nudged his shoulder with the
heel of her palm. Is it sappy?
I demand. Sappy.
Give me verses about kisses, socks, and Killian court.
He slid his hands away from his face, cheeks flushed but bright.
OK, maybe a little sappy, but it's ours.
I keep hearing the melody, the lamp posts, humming, his laugh
when I must, his hair. It's a rhythm I don't want to
lose. So I've been working with the
chords on the guitar all night. I barely slept.
I want to create something steady and warm with a lift in
the middle, like the river wind pushing us forward.
Her teasing eased into pride. That's beautiful.
You put your heart where it belongs, into people, into
music. He's lucky you want to give him
that. His voice came low.
I'm the lucky 1. Tammy leaned her head against
the bark, watching him. I'm so proud of you.
You're brave enough to say it in song.
Most people never say it at all. His smile settled into something
quiet and sure. He'll know.
He'll know when he hears it. James tipped his head back
against the Maple and looked up through the leaves.
I wanted to tell you first, you're my person.
Her grin turned soft and teasing.
And you're my knucklehead. Light bled along the Charles,
gilding the edge of campus. Their voices thinned into a
trusted silence. The kind that keeps promises.
The vow to look after Lily lingered between them, and so
did James's new confession, small and certain as the Dome
glinting across the water. Interlude from the author.
DT Martin here If anything here touches a tender place, please
know you are not alone. If you need support, reach out
to a friend, a local helpline or a mental health professional.
It is brave to ask for help. This book is for the girls who
learn to hush themselves to survive, and for the friends who
taught them to speak again. Thank you for making time for my
story. I wrote What Thunder Left Behind
to hold and examine the pieces of my childhood that shaped me,
traumas I carried like Lily carries hers.
Writing became a place where I could turn that weight into
language and begin to understand what it had taken from me and
what it had given. For years, I believed the words
already existed somewhere else, and I had nothing new to add.
When I was young, my mother and brothers teased my stories, and
their laughter folded itself into the memory of every page I
tried to write. Those moments mattered.
They taught me how to survive in a room full of voices.
They also taught me how to hide the part of myself that wanted
to create worlds of my own. I left that secret dream for
mathematics. I built a career designing
microwave systems, sketching circuits and proofs that hum
across fields from California to the Midwest.
Math steadied me. Numbers hold a kind of truth.
They offer patterns I can follow until a solution appears.
Writing these pages taught me how to hold what happened and to
name the pieces. It did not fix everything, but
it gave shape to the fragments and made them easier to carry.
Thank you to the teachers, friends, and editors who read
these drafts at odd hours and to the readers who carry these
pages forward. Your care keeps this work
honest. If these characters stay with
you, there is more to come. More pages, more music, and a
longer conversation about how we hold one another.
What Thunder Left Behind is available on Amazon for
purchase. Please follow the next steps of
Lily's story and hear her exciting journey.
You can find me at my website and on social media links in the
comments section. Turn the page when you're ready.
Chapter 11 arrives next Monday. Together, we'll find the hope
through the Thunder in James's quirky retort.
People ask why I mismatched my socks.
I tell them it's to keep the equations honest.
One side improvises, the other holds the proof.