Fifteen and Sweaty Palms

My palms were sweating so much I could practically water plants with them. Standing at the edge of the party, watching everyone else look like they'd been born knowing how to exist, I seriously considered just sprinting home and pretending I'd never come.

"You're not actually planning to spend the whole night doing that invisible wall thing, are you?"

I jumped. Taylor. Of course. Taylor, who I'd been secretly low-key obsessed with since September, who I had approximately 0.03% chance with, whose everything was suddenly way too close.

"I'm... contemplating my options," I managed, my voice cracking like I was still going through puberty at seventeen.

Taylor laughed. Actually laughed. "Your options include running away, which you've been doing since eighth grade, or actually coming inside like a normal person."

They were wearing this orange beanie that looked ridiculous on anyone else but somehow worked on them. Which was annoying. Like, honestly, how was that fair?

"I'm not running away," I protested. "I'm strategically positioning myself."

"For what? To become a wall fixture?" Taylor stepped closer, and my heart did this stupid thing where it forgot how to heartbeat properly. "Come on. I'll bear the social awkwardness with you."

"Bear the—what does that even mean?"

"It means I'll suffer through small talk if you will. Promise."

We walked into the actual party together, and I was hyper-aware that Taylor's shoulder kept accidentally brushing mine. The music was too loud, someone had spilled something sticky on the floor, and it was kind of terrible and also exactly where I wanted to be.

Later, we ended up on the back porch, sharing a can of orange soda because that was apparently all that was left in the cooler. The air was finally cool enough to breathe properly.

"So," Taylor said, looking at me with this expression I couldn't quite read. "You gonna tell me why you're always running away from things?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. "I'm working on it."

"Good." Their hand found mine in the dark, and my palms were still sweaty, and I was still terrified, and it was perfect. "Because you're kinda worth not running from."

I didn't run. Not that night. Not from any of it. Turns out, some things are worth staying for.