Orange Fizz and Sticky Palms

Maya gripped the cold can of orange soda until her knuckles turned white. The summer humidity wrapped around her like a second skin, and she could feel the sweat collecting in her palms. Literally. Her actual palms were sweating.

"You okay?" Liam asked, swinging his legs over the edge of the pool.

"Yeah. Just.��� Maya gestured vaguely at the chaos of Tyler's backyard. The pool was basically a sea of chlorine and hormones, everyone from school either making out or pretending not to care. "A lot."

Liam nodded like this was the profoundest thing ever said. Because that was Liam—unreasonably cute, confusingly kind, and currently in swim trunks that were doing Maya zero favors.

The sun was setting behind the palm trees, painting everything in this orange glow that made the moment feel fake. Like a movie scene. Except in movies, the protagonist didn't spill orange soda all over her white dress because her hands were literally shaking.

"Oh my GOD," Maya hissed, watching the neon liquid spread across her chest like a neon catastrophe. "This is it. This is my villain origin story."

Liam laughed. Not the polite laugh. The real one.

"Here." He pulled his soaked t-shirt over his head—Maya looked at the sky, the pool, anywhere but him—and handed it to her. "Wear it. I don't care."

"I can't wear your shirt, Liam."

"Why not?"

"Because that's like, weirdly intimate?" She said it like a question because she didn't actually know. She didn't know the rules of whatever this was.

"Maya." His voice dropped. "You've had orange soda on your dress for like thirty seconds and you're spiraling. Just take the shirt."

So she did. And it smelled like chlorine and whatever Liam smelled like, which was basically summer distilled into a scent.

They sat on the pool edge, feet dangling in the water, while the party raged behind them. For once, her palms weren't sweating. She felt quiet in a way she never did at school, where everything felt like performance.

"I like your dress," Liam said suddenly. "Even with the orange spot."

"It's ruined."

"It's memorable."

The palm fronds rustled above them, and somewhere someone shouted about chicken wings, and Maya thought: okay. Maybe this wasn't the night she planned. But she was wearing a cute boy's shirt, she had an orange stain shaped like a questionable blob on her dress, and for the first time all summer, her palms were dry.

She slid into the pool, fully clothed, and pulled Liam in after her.

"Maya! What—"

"Join me," she said, surfacing with a splash. "The water's fine."

He jumped in. They floated under the orange sky while the palm trees whispered above them, and Maya thought that maybe, just maybe, high school wouldn't be completely terrible after all.