Lightning in My Palm

Maya's palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating through her foundation, because of course she'd decided tonight was the night to finally wear that expensive eyeshadow palette she'd saved up for three months to buy.

"You good?" Liam asked, passing her a red Solo cup. "You look like you're about to puke."

"I'm fine," she lied. "Just... pre-party jitters."

Bull. She wasn't jittery. She was full-on spiraling.

Because across the backyard, standing near the pool like she owned everything—including the absolutely gorgeous guy she was talking to—was Taylor. The girl who'd made Maya's life hell since seventh grade, currently wearing a fox-head necklace that Maya had secretly wanted from Urban Outfitters for months. Small world, smaller closets.

Taylor was laughing too loud at something the guy said, tossing her hair like she was in a shampoo commercial. Typical.

"You gonna bear this all night, or are you actually gonna talk to him?" Liam asked, following her gaze.

"I don't even know if he likes me like that."

"He's been looking at you since you walked in, Maya. The lightning practically crackles between you two. It's weirding me out."

Maya snorted but felt something flicker in her chest. Hope? Or just anxiety masquerading as hope? Hard to tell when your hands were shaking so badly you could barely hold your cup.

Taylor moved closer to the guy, touching his arm like it was the most natural thing in the world. Maya's stomach twisted. She knew how this went. She'd bear it, like always—watch from the sidelines while the Taylor Foxes of the world got everything first: the boys, the attention, the confidence that came so easily to some people.

But then the guy looked up, caught Maya's eye, and actually smiled. Not the polite smile you give people you don't know. The real one.

He excused himself mid-sentence with Taylor—actually walked away from her mid-story—and started crossing the yard toward Maya.

Taylor's face fell. Maya didn't even feel bad about it.

"Hey," he said when he reached her. "I'm Caleb. I was hoping you'd show up."

The lightning in her palm wasn't sweat anymore. It was something else entirely.