Orange Soda palms

Maya's palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating through her denim shorts as she gripped the cold plastic cup. This wasn't just any party—it was **Jordan's** party, and if there was one thing you needed to know about Jordan, it was that his parties were legendary. The kind that got whispered about in Monday morning homeroom.

"You good?" Sam asked, nudging her with an elbow. Sam had been her **friend** since sixth grade, back when they both wore mismatched socks and thought that was personality.

"Fine," Maya lied, taking a sip of her drink. Some gross **orange** soda that tasted like chemicals and nostalgia.

The truth was, Maya wasn't fine. She'd spent the entire week researching whether **vitamin** D supplements could actually make you less awkward around your crush, and now she was stuck at this party, watching Jordan laugh across the room with that one junior who always wore the perfect shade of lipstick.

Her phone buzzed. Unknown number. Probably another bot.

"You're doing that thing," Sam said.

"What thing?"

"That overthinking thing where you stare at Jordan like he's a math problem you forgot to study for."

Maya's face burned. "I do not."

"You literally look like you're calculating his GPA based on his hair gel usage." Sam grabbed her hand. "Come on. We're getting snacks."

They ended up on Jordan's back patio, sitting on the concrete steps. Sam pulled a bottle of those gummy **vitamin** C things from her pocket—because apparently Sam was now a person who carried supplements to parties like some kind of responsible adult.

"Want one?" Sam offered. "They're shaped like dinosaurs."

"Since when do you take vitamins?"

"Since my mom said my immune system is 'concerning.' Whatever that means." Sam popped two into her mouth. "You know what your problem is?"

Maya sighed. "Besides the sweating palms thing?"

"Yeah, besides that." Sam swallowed. "You think Jordan is this mystical creature who's gonna fix your life. But he's just a guy who throws parties and probably still sleeps with a nightlight."

Maya looked down at her **palm**, which had somehow gotten sticky from the soda. "He asked about my math grade yesterday."

"See? He's boring." Sam stood up. "Now are we gonna go back in there and actually talk to people, or are we gonna sit here analyzing dinosaur gummy bears?"

Maya wiped her hand on her shorts. "Fine. But if Jordan asks about my math grade again, I'm literally faking a nosebleed."

"Deal." Sam grinned. "Also, you should probably reapply that orange lip gloss before we go back in. It's giving."

Maya laughed, and for the first time all night, her palms were finally dry.