Palm Reader in the Deep End

Maya's palms were sweating, and she kept wiping them on her denim shorts like she was preparing to steal a base. The baseball cap pulled low over her face didn't help with the heat, but it was her armor—her dad's old Dodgers cap, stained and perfect.

"You nervous?" Jordan asked, bumping her shoulder with his. He was wearing swim trunks and looking way too chill for someone about to jump into the shallow end of Taylor's pool party.

"Baseball tryouts are Monday," Maya muttered. "Coach said he's cutting half the team."

"Dude, you're literally the best pitcher we have. Your curveball? Unhittable."

Maya adjusted her cap. "Tell that to my anxiety."

They approached Taylor's backyard, where already like thirty people were scattered around the pool. The water shimmered like something out of a music video, and someone had set up speakers blasting that song everyone wouldn't stop playing.

"Maya!" Taylor called from the pool deck, holding a red plastic cup. "You made it! Finally! Come meet everyone."

Maya froze. Her palms started sweating again. She'd known Taylor since kindergarten, but this version of Taylor—with the Instagram-perfect swimsuit and the effortless social butterfly energy—felt like a stranger.

"Hey," Maya managed, while Jordan cannonballed into the pool with a splash that drenched three people.

"Oh my god, Jordan!" Taylor shrieked, laughing. "Anyway, Maya, this is Chloe, Sasha, and... wait, you have to see this."

Taylor grabbed Maya's wrist and pulled her toward a cluster of girls sitting on lounge chairs. "Maya's, like, super athletic. She plays baseball."

"Baseball?" Chloe repeated, raising an eyebrow. "Not softball?"

"Yeah, baseball," Maya said, feeling her face heat up. "Same sport, different rules."

"That's actually kind of badass," Sasha said, looking up from her phone. "You should read palms, though. Like, with that baseball energy? You'd kill it."

Taylor laughed. "Do it! Read my palm!"

Before Maya could protest, Taylor shoved her hand forward. Maya hesitated, then took it—her own palm still slightly damp with sweat, Taylor's soft and sun-warmed.

"Um... okay," Maya said. "You have a long lifeline. That means... you're gonna live forever?"

"Obviously," Taylor said, grinning. "What else?"

Maya traced the lines of Taylor's palm, making stuff up but suddenly feeling weirdly confident. "You're gonna... I don't know, do something big. Something that matters. And you're gonna be happy."

Taylor's smile softened. "You think?"

"Yeah," Maya said, and she meant it. "I do."

"Your turn," Taylor said, grabbing Maya's hand. "Let me see..."

She traced Maya's palm with her finger, then stopped. "You're worried about something. Something big. But you're gonna crush it. I can feel it."

Maya looked at her—really looked at her—and realized that Instagram-perfect Taylor was still just Taylor, the girl who'd shared her graham crackers in kindergarten and defended her when Jason Miller pulled her hair in first grade.

"Thanks," Maya said quietly.

"Now get in the pool," Taylor said, standing up. "Jordan's being annoying. We need backup."

Maya took off her cap, set it carefully on a table, and jumped into the water. The coolness shocked her system, and for a second she forgot everything—tryouts, the curveball, the fear of being cut. She was just floating, surrounded by friends who actually wanted her there.

When she surfaced, Jordan splashed water in her face. "Palm reader over here says I'm gonna meet someone famous," he was saying to Chloe.

Maya wiped water from her eyes and grinned. Maybe Monday's tryouts would be fine. Maybe everything would be fine.

"Hey," she called out. "Anyone want to learn how to throw a curveball?"