Frizz & Fortune

The bathroom line at Jessica's party stretched down the hallway, but honestly? I was just hiding. My hair — usually controlled by three different styling products and prayer — was frizzing up like nobody's business thanks to the summer humidity. I looked like a poodle that had licked a socket.

"You're not gonna wait in line, are you?"

I jumped. Riley stood there, leaning against the doorframe like she owned everyone's awkward moments. Riley Chen, who wore platforms to PE and had once convinced the whole cafeteria that the chicken nuggets were vegan.

"My hair's betraying me," I said, which was the most honest thing I'd said all night.

She laughed, but not mean. "It looks good. Wild." She stepped closer. "Hey, want me to read your palm?"

"Since when do you read palms?"

"Since YouTube taught me five minutes ago." She held out her hand. "Come on."

I hesitated, then placed my palm in hers. Her fingers were warm, and I immediately started sweating because of course I did. This was it. My life was over. I would dissolve into a puddle of humiliation and seep through the floorboards.

"Your lifeline's long," she said, tracing a line across my hand. "You're gonna live forever. Or at least until you're, like, really old."

"That's scientifically accurate, thanks."

"And this one — " She tapped my heart line. "You're gonna fall in love with someone who appreciates your hair."

I felt my face heat up. "That's not a real thing."

"It is now." She grinned, all mischief and confidence. "Also, you have a gum wrapper in your pocket."

"It's not a gum wrapper." I reached into my jeans and pulled out my emergency vitamin gummy — the one my mom made me carry because she was convinced fourteen-year-olds couldn't be trusted to remember nutrition. "It's a vitamin. My mom's weird about immune health."

Riley stared at it for a second, then burst out laughing. "You brought a VITAMIN to a party?"

"It's ELECTIVE, okay?"

"You're so weird." She nudged my shoulder with hers. "I like it."

We ended up sitting on the back porch, sharing the vitamin gummy and watching people try to play beer pong with soda. My hair kept frizzing bigger and bigger, and Riley kept making up increasingly ridiculous fortunes.

"This line means you'll win a hot dog eating contest in 2029."

"This one says you'll discover a new color."

Maybe she was just making everything up. Maybe palm reading wasn't real and my hair was a disaster and vitamin gummies weren't supposed to be a party trick.

But Riley's hand kept brushing against mine, and every time she laughed, I felt something bright and terrified and perfect unspool in my chest.

Some things, you don't need a fortune to see coming.