Fox in My Palm

The boardwalk fortune teller's booth smelled like incense and secrets. I sat there with my hand out, trying to look chill even though my heart was hammering. She traced the lines of my **palm** with one manicured fingernail, then paused.

"Interesting," she murmured. "You've got a fox symbol here. Someone close to you isn't what they seem."

I pulled my hand back, laughing it off. "Whatever, lady. I paid for the aura photo too."

But her words followed me down the wooden planks, past the arcade where Jordan and I had spent countless afternoons. Jordan — my best **friend** since sixth grade, the one who'd stuck by me when my parents split, the one I told everything to.

We were supposed to meet at the beach bonfire later. Something she'd said yesterday kept replaying in my head: *"You know, sometimes people hide who they really are. Even from themselves."*

I found her sitting alone on a lifeguard stand, watching the sunset paint everything orange and pink. The wind whipped her hair across her face. She looked different somehow — older, tired.

"You're gonna miss it," I said, climbing up beside her. "The party's starting."

"Lena." She turned to me, and I saw something I'd never noticed before. A sharpness. A cunningness. The fortune teller's words flashed back: *someone close isn't what they seem.*

"I applied to that arts school," she said quietly. "In New York. The one we swore was too pretentious to even joke about."

I stared at her. "You said you hated those hipsters. You said—"

"I said what I needed to say." She shrugged, but her hands were shaking. "Because I was scared you'd think I was abandoning you. Like your mom did."

The **fox** hadn't been about betrayal. It had been about survival. About doing whatever it took to stay safe.

"You idiot," I said, and my voice cracked. "I'd have helped you pack."

She started crying, and I pulled her into a hug while the sun dipped below the horizon, turning the sky the color of secrets finally told.

"So," I whispered into her hair. "New York's got pretentious coffee shops, right?"

She laughed through tears. "The most pretentious."

"Good. I'll Facetime you from every single one."

Some things change. Some things don't. But the real ones — the ones worth keeping — they find a way to be true anyway.