Lines in My Palm

Marcus held my hand, his thumb tracing the lifeline on my palm like he was actually reading something there. The summer humidity made everything sticky — my denim shorts, the carnival air, the way his skin pressed against mine.

"You're gonna live forever," he said, grinning that crooked smile that made half the sophomore class want to date him and the other half want to be him.

I pulled my hand back, fighting the urge to wipe it on my jeans. "That's not how palm reading works, genius. You're supposed to charge me five bucks first."

The cat appeared out of nowhere — a calico with one ear that looked like it had seen better days. It wound around Marcus's legs like it owned him, purring loud enough to compete with the distant carnival music.

Since when did carnival cats choose people?

"Guess I've got a vibe," Marcus said, crouching down to scratch behind its ears. The cat leaned into his touch like this was exactly what it had been waiting for.

I stood there, suddenly hyper-aware of everything: the way my sweaty palms had nothing to do with the heat, the fact that my best friend was looking at a stray cat with more warmth than he'd ever looked at me, the realization that maybe I'd been reading everything wrong all along.

"You should keep her," I said, surprised by how steady my voice came out. "Your mom's allergic, remember?"

Marcus looked up, and for the first time all night, his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe she'll change her mind."

The cat trotted away toward the food trucks, tail held high like it had somewhere better to be.

"She's not staying," I said quietly.

"No," Marcus agreed, standing up and brushing dirt off his knees. "But she was cool while she lasted."

We walked toward the ferris wheel in comfortable silence, and I thought about how some things — cats, summers, maybe even feelings — were never meant to stay forever. The lines on my palm didn't tell me anything about my future, but Marcus standing next to me, not saying anything, told me everything I needed to know about right now.

Sometimes you don't need a fortune teller to know what's real. You just need a friend who gets it, even when neither of you says a word.