Orange Crush & Sweaty Palms

Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her jeans for the third time, clutching the Orange Crush she'd been nursing for twenty minutes at this house party. The bass from the speakers was making her teeth vibrate, and everyone seemed to know exactly what to do with their hands except her.

"You gonna talk to him or just stare at his orange Vans all night?" Maya's best friend Jiya appeared beside her, bumping her shoulder.

"I can't. Look at me." Maya gestured at her newly dyed orange hair—a DIY disaster that had turned out more "traffic cone" than "sunset auburn." "I look like a walking safety cone."

"You look bold. It's a vibe." Jiya grinned, then gasped. "Oh my god, he's coming over."

Maya's heart did this thing where it forgot how to function properly. Marcus—the guy she'd been lowkey obsessed with since September—was weaving through the crowd with that easy confidence she'd been trying to fake all year. But he wasn't alone.

A calico cat was trailing him like a shadow, weaving between people's legs like it owned the place. Who brings a cat to a house party?

"Hey," Marcus said, stopping in front of them. The cat immediately rubbed against Maya's orange Converse, purring like a tiny motor. "This is Queso. She kinda adopted me when I moved in next door."

Maya stared. "You're the new neighbor?"

"Yeah. Been meaning to come say hi." He scratched the back of his neck, and she noticed his palms looked kinda sweaty too. "I like your hair, by the way. It's... memorable."

Queso chose that moment to jump onto Maya's lap and immediately start kneading her thighs with that weird cat biscuit-making thing that hurt but was also somehow validating.

"I think she approves," Marcus said, smiling. And for the first time all night, Maya's hands weren't sweating anymore.