Goldfish Prophecies

Maya pressed her sweating palm against her bedroom window, watching the party lights flicker across the street. She wasn't invited, obviously. But being the self-appointed neighborhood spy meant she knew exactly who was kissing whom behind the garage anyway.

Her phone buzzed. Derek.

"u coming???"

Maya's heart did that stupid fluttery thing. She'd been crushing on him since seventh period English when he'd compared their teacher's lectures to "watching paint dry in slow motion."

"Maybe," she typed, then deleted. "Can't." Deleted. "Family stuff." Send.

Lame. So lame.

She turned back to Goldie, her carnival-won goldfish doing lonely laps in his bowl. "At least you don't have to deal with social hierarchies, bro."

Goldie blew a bubble. Maya took it as agreement.

Then her phone lit up again. Not Derek. Chloe—the queen bee who'd made Maya's life miserable since the great cafeteria incident of freshman year.

"Everyone's doing palm readings. U should come. Sarah says u did her cousin's chart and it was actually legit."

Maya stared. Her palm reading "skills" were literally just a BuzzFeed article she'd memorized in eighth grade plus a lot of vague statements about "new beginnings" and "emotional growth." But somehow it had become her thing.

"Idk Chloe lol"

"plzzz. derek keeps asking about u"

Maya was out the door before she could process what that even meant.

Ten minutes later, she was squashed on a basement couch between a stoned junior and someone's sad-looking Labradoodle, holding Derek's hand—his palm, specifically—while approximately half the sophomore class watched.

"Your, uh, lifeline is really long," she said, her voice weirdly steady despite everyone staring. "Like, you're going to do something important."

Derek's eyes locked onto hers. "Yeah?"

Maya's palm was sweating against his. "And this line..." She traced a finger across his hand. "It means you meet someone who gets you. Like, really gets you."

"Think that's true?" His voice was lower now, private.

Maya thought about Goldie, alone in his bowl, about spying on parties through windows, about how she'd spent her whole life watching from the outside.

"Yeah," she said. "I really do."

Later, when they were sitting on the front steps watching her dad pull up, Derek leaned in close.

"For the record," he whispered. "I've been spying on your Instagram stories for months. Just so you know."

Maya laughed so hard her palm didn't sweat at all.

Goldie was getting a friend tomorrow. And Maya? She was finally part of the story.