Orange Stains on Friday Night

Maya's palms were sweating, literally dripping, as she stood outside Tyler's house. The bass from inside thumped against her chest like a second heartbeat. Her first real high school party. She'd spent two hours on her hair – those perfect natural curls everyone at school always complimented during homeroom.

"You got this, Maya," she whispered, but her voice shook.

She grabbed a Slice of orange from the snack table like it was a lifeline. Her hands were shaking so bad she accidentally squeezed it. Orange pulp and juice exploded everywhere. All over her white crop top. Dead.

"Yo, you good?" It was Tyler. Standing there. In his infinite glory.

She wanted to evaporate. "I'm just – "

"Running to the bathroom," she blurted, already speed-walking away. What was she, five?

She locked herself in the bathroom and stared at her reflection. Orange stained her shirt like some neon badge of awkwardness. Her phone buzzed. Chloe: "come outtt everyone's asking where you are"

She washed her hands for the third time and checked her palms. Still shaking. Her cousin had read her palms at Thanksgiving and told her she'd have "a year of firsts." First party. First orange disaster. first genuine desire to teleport into another dimension.

The door knocked. "Maya?"

Tyler's voice through the door.

She opened it. He had a hoodie – a vintage oversized one that looked straight from Pinterest.

"My sister left this here," he said, holding it out. "Size large, but..."

She pulled it on. The orange stain was gone, but now she was swimming in fabric that smelled like cedar and something expensive.

"Thanks," she mumbled.

"No problem." He leaned against the doorframe, all casual confidence. "So, who were you running from?"

"Myself, mostly."

He laughed. "That's valid. Half the people out there are pretending to be someone they're not. At least you're real about it."

Her palms stopped sweating.

They ended up on the back porch, talking about everything and nothing. The moon hung low over the palm trees in his neighbor's yard, casting shadows across his face.

"You know," he said, "orange is actually my favorite color."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. It's bold. It's like, I'm here, deal with it."

Maya smiled. Her palm reading hadn't been wrong. This was the first of something – maybe not what she expected, but definitely something real.