Palm Lines & Perfect Pitches

Maya's mom stood in the kitchen doorway, holding out the neon orange bottle like it was evidence in a crime investigation.

"Did you take your vitamin?"

"Yes, Mom. Like, three hours ago." Maya adjusted her phone against the stack of baseball cards on her desk. Her brother Ryan's collection, which she'd "borrowed" because the shortstop—Caleb—had eyes that made her stomach do actual cartwheels.

The cable knit sweater her grandmother had sent (complete with actual snowflakes, because apparently Florida needed more winter vibes) hung on her closet door like a fuzzy orange prison sentence. She'd rather wear a sandwich board that said "ASK ME ABOUT MY AWKWARD PHASE." But homecoming was in two weeks, and Caleb had actually noticed her new hair, so maybe awkward was becoming a vibe?

At lunch, Jordan slid into the seat across from her, eyes wide. "You're not gonna believe the carnival setup. There's literally a Sphinx booth. Like, an actual Egyptian statue, and it's gonna tell your future or some mystic BS."

"A Sphinx? At school?" Maya almost choked on her apple.

"My cousin says it's supposed to be deep. You know, riddles and wisdom, finding your path." Jordan gestured dramatically. "Also, Mrs. Henderson is running the palm reading station because apparently she took a class at the community college?"

The word hit Maya like a fastball. Palm. Reading.

*What if it says something real?*

What if the lines on her hands mapped out a future that didn't include Caleb, or varsity, or whatever version of herself everyone expected? What if her path was... something else entirely?

"You're doing it," Jordan decided, reading her face like it was text. "We're both going. Friday after school. I'll bring cash for the mystic experience."

Maya looked down at her hands, tracing the lines on her palm like they were topographic maps of somewhere she'd never been.

"Okay," she said, and the word felt like the first page of something new.

She'd take her vitamin, wear the ridiculous sweater, and maybe even figure out what all those baseball cards meant beyond just an excuse to look at Caleb's smile. But first, she needed to know what the Sphinx—or Mrs. Henderson's community college class—had to say about the lines written on her skin.

Some futures weren't written yet. And wasn't that the whole point?