Lines on My Palm

My palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating. I wiped them on my denim shorts for the third time, leaving dark patches that made me look even more nervous than I already felt.

"You're up, Maya," Chloe called from the pool gate, where she was holding court like she owned every square inch of the neighborhood. "Truth or dare?"

The backyard was packed—half our sophomore class, it seemed—all squeezed around the inground pool that glittered with underwater lights. Boys in swim trunks doing cannonballs. Girls in bikinis checking their reflections in the glass sliding door. And me, standing there like I'd rather be anywhere else.

"Truth," I said, because at least that felt safe.

Chloe smirked. "Boring. But okay." She tapped her chin. "What's that weird thing you do? With hands?"

Oh no. Not this. Not here.

"Palm reading," I muttered. "My grandmother taught me. It's just... whatever."

"DO IT!" someone shouted. Suddenly everyone was looking at me, even Tyler, who I'd had a crush on since seventh grade and who was currently dripping wet and gorgeous in the shallow end.

I couldn't bear it. The weight of their expectations. The way Chloe's eyes said she was setting me up for something. But Tyler pulled himself out of the pool and walked over, water sliding down his arms, and held out his hand.

"Read mine," he said.

So I did. I traced his life line, his heart line, told him what each one supposedly meant while my voice shook. And then I saw something—something real. Not magic, but the way his hand trembled slightly in mine. The way he kept looking at me, not at the party behind him.

"Your heart line says you're going to make a bold move tonight," I heard myself say.

He smiled. And then he leaned in and said, "You know what they say about palm readers? They see what they want to see."

Maybe. But as he asked if I wanted to go get food, just the two of us, I thought maybe—just maybe—sometimes the universe gives you exactly what you need to bear being brave.