Palm-Read at the Party

The stupid party hat kept sliding over my eyes. I'd only worn it because Maya dared me, and now I was stuck playing mystical fortune teller to a bunch of seniors who'd already had way too much to drink.

"Your palm says you're gonna bear the weight of the world," I recited, trying to sound mysterious instead of ridiculous. The guy in front of me—some lacrosse bro whose name I didn't actually know—nodded solemnly like I'd just handed him the meaning of life.

"Deep," he slurred. "But my hat says I'm gonna bear the weight of... whatever this hat is made of."

His friends laughed. I wanted to sink into the expensive hardwood floor and disappear.

"What about you?" Maya appeared beside me, rescue mission in full effect. "Read mine."

I took her hand, really looked at the lines this time. Her palm was soft, unreadable.

"You're gonna stop letting other people pick your hats," I said quietly.

She froze. Then she grinned—that genuine one that made my chest do something weird. "What if I like the hat?"

I pulled off the stupid paper cone. My hair was flat underneath, probably ridiculous. "Then wear it. Just make sure it's actually yours."

Later, we sat on the roof while the party raged below, no hats, no palm readings, no pretending to bear anything we couldn't handle. She held my hand, and I thought maybe the future wasn't so scary when you weren't facing it alone.