Carnival Lights and Sweaty Palms

Maya's hair was supposed to be caramel highlights. Instead, it was orange. Like, **traffic cone** orange. She'd spent the entire first week of junior year hiding under hoodies, convinced everyone at Northwood High was secretly laughing at her.

Everyone except Leo, anyway.

"It's not that bad," he'd said when she finally showed him at lunch, handing over his phone so she could see the damage in the camera reflection. "Actually, it kinda looks like sunset. In a cool way."

Leo had been her best friend since seventh grade, when they'd bonded over shared trauma in Mr. Henderson's math class. But lately, Maya found herself noticing stupid things she never had before. Like how his messy dark curls fell over his eyes when he was genuinely laughing. Like how his voice got all soft when he asked if she was okay.

Like how her **palm** got inexplicably sweaty whenever he stood too close.

So when the school carnival rolled around in October, Maya was already spiraling. Leo's parents were making him go to some cousin's quinceañera instead. Of course he was. Because the universe clearly wanted her to suffer through poorly rigged games and questionable funnel cake alone.

Then she saw it: **Madame Zora's Fortune Tent**, nestled between the ring toss and the sophomore class bake sale. Why not? What did she have to lose besides five dollars and whatever remaining dignity she still possessed?

The "psychic" was clearly someone's mom in a cheap costume. But she took Maya's hand, examined her palm like she was reading an ancient text, and looked up with eyes that suddenly didn't seem so fake.

"You're worried about something that's already fixed," the woman said softly. "The answer is standing right in front of you. You just need to reach out."

Maya left the tent more confused than ever.

"Hey!"

She spun around. There was Leo, breathless like he'd run across the entire parking lot. His dark **hair** was everywhere—windblown, perfect, completely unfair.

"What are you doing here? Your mom said—"

"I know what she said. I told her I wasn't missing this." He stepped closer. "Your hair... I meant what I said. About the sunset thing."

"Leo, why are you—"

"Because you've been weird all week, and I know it's about the hair, but also it's not about the hair." His voice dropped. "Madame Zora is my aunt. She texted me. Said some girl with orange sunset hair came in and she told her the answer was standing right in front of her."

Maya stopped breathing. "She said that?"

"She did." Leo's palm found hers, interlocking their fingers. "So I'm asking. Do I need to say it, or do you already know?"

Maya looked at their joined hands. At the stupid carnival lights reflecting in Leo's eyes. At her terrible, wonderful, sunset hair.

"I think," she said, "that I might need you to say it anyway."

Leo grinned, pulling her toward the Ferris wheel. "Good thing I bought unlimited ride passes, then."