Orange Palms and Midnight Truths

My palms were sweating — literally leaving orange fingerprints everywhere from the Cheetos I'd been stress-eating.

"You're literally spiraling," Maya said, nudging my elbow. "Just go talk to him."

I stared across the bonfire at Tyler, whose laugh made my stomach do that annoying flip thing. We'd been flirting for weeks, but tonight felt different. Like something was supposed to happen.

"What if I say something dumb?" I asked. "What if he realizes I'm not —"

"Not what? Cool enough? Pretty enough?" Maya rolled her eyes. "Newsflash: he's been watching you all night."

I looked. Sure enough, Tyler was already looking back. He raised his red solo cup in a half-wave, and my heart absolutely sprinted.

A weird old guy sat nearby, giving palm readings to anyone brave enough. Someone had clearly brought their grandma's eccentric friend.

"Let me see your hand," he told me, voice like gravel. I extended my hand, self-conscious about my orange-stained fingers.

"Interesting," he muttered. "You carry something heavy. A secret, maybe. Or a fear."

I pulled my hand back. "That's not exactly a party trick."

"The truth rarely is." His eyes crinkled. "Whatever you're holding onto, bear it with grace. But don't let it weigh you down forever."

Maya grabbed my wrist. "Okay, time to actually live your life. I'm cutting in." She practically shoved me toward Tyler, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

"Hey," I managed, hoping my voice sounded normal.

"Hey." Tyler's smile reached his eyes, which were annoyingly pretty in the firelight. "I was wondering when you'd come over here."

"You were?"

"All night." He stepped closer, and I caught his scent — lake water and vanilla and something warm. "You okay? You look... intense."

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

About how scared I was to mess this up. About how much I wanted him to kiss me but also wanted to run away. About how seventeen felt too young to feel this much and too old to still be this awkward.

Instead I said, "About how you still haven't told me what you wrote in my yearbook."

Tyler laughed. "You remember that?"

"I remember everything." Too honest. Great.

He studied my face, then my hand, where a smudge of orange remained. "You've got —" He reached out and wiped it off with his thumb, his touch lingering on my palm. "There."

My breath hitched. His hand was warm and he wasn't letting go.

"I wrote that you were the most interesting person I'd met in a long time," he said softly. "And that I hoped this wasn't goodbye."

"It wasn't,"

"No." His thumb traced circles on my palm. "And I don't want it to be."

The bonfire popped behind us, sparks floating toward the stars. For once, my mind was quiet. No overthinking, no doubt. Just this moment, Tyler's hand in mine, and the sudden certainty that some things were worth bearing the weight for.

"Cool," I whispered.

"Yeah," Tyler said. "Cool."