Orange Soda Prophecies

Maya's palms were sweating legit rivers, which was exactly why she'd agreed to let Brianna's cousin read them at the homecoming carnival. The setup was sketchy—a folding table draped in a purple velvet cloth, a crystal ball that looked like a repurposed fishbowl, and a sign reading MADAME ZORA in glitter letters that were already peeling off.

"Your palm says you're at a crossroads," Zora announced dramatically, grabbing Maya's hand with manicured fingernails. "But you already knew that."

Maya hadn't told anyone about trying out for the baseball team. Not even her best friend, Kai, who'd been begging her to join track with him instead. Freshman year was hard enough without everyone knowing she was the only girl attempting to pitch with the varsity boys.

"Also," Zora continued, "stay away from orange beverages tonight. Trust."

Maya rolled her eyes, but five minutes later, she somehow managed to trip over her own feet and spill an entire orange Fanta right onto the pristine white jersey of Dylan Martinez, sophomore shortstop and arguably the cutest guy in school. The effect was catastrophic—a sticky, neon explosion across his chest.

"My bad," she managed, face burning hot enough to power a small city.

Dylan just laughed. "You're that freshman trying out for pitcher, right? That's sick, honestly. We need someone who can actually throw strikes."

The words hit her like physical things. Not pity, not laughter, but genuine respect.

She spotted Kai by the running track, doing laps like he always did when he was stressed. He waved her over, and without thinking, she started sprinting toward him—running faster than she ever had in her life, baseball dreams and orange soda disasters and Zora's weird prophecy somehow making perfect sense in that moment.

"So," Kai called out as she approached, breathless and grinning. "You gonna tell me about tryouts, or what?"

Maya smiled, palms still sticky, heart absolutely soaring. "Yeah. Yeah, I am."