Palm Reader at the Pool

The chlorine stung my eyes, but I kept them open anyway. Across the **pool**, Jake was laughing at something Madison said, his head tilted back just like in the TikTok I'd replayed seventeen times last night. I wasn't proud of the **spy** work my algorithm-induced doom-scrolling had become, but here we were.

"You're doing it again," Layla said, appearing beside me with two sodas. "The thing where you observe instead of participate. It's giving wallflower energy, and not in a cute way."

"I'm not observing," I lied. "I'm... gathering data."

"You're literally at a party. Put the phone away." She nudged me. "By the way, did I tell you I started reading palms? It's surprisingly easy to trick people into thinking you have psychic abilities."

I laughed. "Show me."

Layla grabbed my hand, tracing the lines on my **palm** with her thumb. "Okay, so this line means you're overthinking everything. This one means you have commitment issues. And this tiny one here means you're going to talk to Jake in the next five minutes or I'm telling everyone you still sleep with a stuffed animal."

"That's not a real palm reading!"

"The threat was real though." She shoved me toward the pool deck. "Go. The **water**'s fine."

I ended up next to Jake at the snack table, which was both a victory and a disaster. My heart was doing something concerning in my chest.

"Hey," he said. "You're Maya, right? From English?"

"Yeah. That's me. English Maya."

Cool. So articulate. A+ social skills.

"I've been meaning to ask you something," Jake said, and my stomach did a full Olympic gymnastics routine. "Did you finish the essay? I'm lowkey spiraling about it."

I blinked. "Oh. Yeah. I can send you my notes if you want."

"You're a lifesaver," he said, pulling out his phone. "What's your Insta?"

As we exchanged handles, Layla caught my eye from across the pool and gave me a thumbs-up. My **palm** was still sweating where she'd traced it earlier, but maybe she was onto something with the whole fake-psychic thing. Or maybe I'd just spent way too much time **spy**ing on Jake from behind the safety of my screen, and the real thing—awkward conversation and all—was actually way better than the version I'd constructed in my head.

"Cool," Jake said, pocketing his phone. "See you Monday."

"See you Monday," I echoed, and maybe—just maybe—I'd finally graduated from observer to participant.