Palm Reader's Bluff

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically water plants with them. House parties weren't exactly her vibe, but Chloe had sworn this one would be "chill" — typical Chloe energy, which usually meant anything but.

"You're literally shaking," Chloe giggled, handing her a lukewarm soda. "Just own it. Tell people you read palms or something. That's your thing now."

"That's such bull," Maya muttered, but something about the ridiculousness of it made her pause. Because here's the thing — she actually DID read palms. Her abuela had taught her the basics last summer, mostly as a joke, but Maya had secretly practiced. Maybe too much.

The kitchen was crowded with people from school, some she recognized, some she didn't. Tyler from her English class was holding court near the island, going on about how he was "basically a shoo-in for Stanford" because his uncle knew someone who knew someone.

Maya rolled her eyes so hard it practically hurt. That was some next-level bull, and everyone knew it. Tyler had a C minus in AP Lit.

"Palm readings!" Chloe suddenly announced to the room, gesturing dramatically at Maya like she was introducing a guest on a talk show. "Five bucks. Get your future told."

Maya wanted to die. But then someone actually stepped forward — it was that quiet kid from her history class, what was his name? Alex? They'd never really spoken.

"Do mine," he said, holding out his hand. "If you want."

His palm was warm, and his life line was ridiculously long. Maya traced it with her fingertip, feeling suddenly grounded. The kitchen noise faded as she focused on the lines, the shapes, the story they supposedly told.

"You're gonna do something important," she heard herself saying, surprising even her own self. "Not like, fame important. But like, actually matter to people important."

Alex looked at her with this expression she couldn't read. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Also, you should probably call your grandma more. She misses you."

He blinked. "How did you—"

Maya shrugged, suddenly feeling powerful. Not fake power like Tyler's bragging, but real power. The kind that comes from being seen.

By midnight, she had a line of people waiting. Chloe was collecting actual money. Tyler was sulking in the corner because nobody was listening to his stories anymore. And Alex? Alex was still there, leaning against the fridge, watching her with this small smile that made Maya's palms sweat for a completely different reason.

"You were right," he said, as the party wound down. "About the important thing."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. I think this counts." He nodded at the empty kitchen, at Chloe counting their earnings, at Maya feeling more like herself than she had in months. "You made friends tonight, Maya. That's pretty important."

Maybe parties weren't her thing. Maybe she'd never be the loudest person in the room. But she had this — these moments where people let her see them, really see them. And a certain friend who might become more than a friend, if his palm lines were anything to go by.

Abuela would be proud. Or at least, she'd pretend not to be while secretly being proud. That was the family way, after all.