Palm Reader's Dog

Maya's palms were sweating again. She wiped them on her jeans, careful not to let anyone notice. Across the cafeteria, Jordan laughed at something her best friend said, tossing her hair like she was in a hair commercial. Maya had been "spying" on Jordan for weeks now—okay, fine, stalking her Instagram and sitting two tables away at lunch. Whatever.

"You're being weird about this," said Leo, sliding onto the bench across from her. Maya's actual best friend, the one who'd known her since they'd accidentally glued their hands together in third grade art. "Just talk to her."

"Easy for you to say. Your palms don't turn into waterfalls whenever you try to form sentences around cute people."

"Fair." Leo stole a fry from her tray. "So what's your plan? Keep being a total spy until graduation?"

Maya didn't answer. Because her plan was actually stupid—her sister was reading palms at the street fair this weekend, and Maya had somehow volunteered to "help." Which mostly meant holding her sister's emotional support chihuahua, Mr. President, while tourists paid five dollars to hear their future.

Cut to Saturday, and Maya was stuck behind a fold-up table with a tiny dog wearing a tuxedo bandana, watching her sister tell people they'd "meet a tall dark stranger" like it wasn't the most generic prediction ever.

Then Jordan walked up.

Maya's palms went nuclear. Mr. President whined.

"One reading please," Jordan said, smiling at Maya. "Wait, aren't you in my AP Chem class?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. "I—yeah. I mean yes. Hi. Hello."

Smooth. So smooth.

Her sister, being the worst, excused herself to "grab more crystals" and left Maya alone with Jordan and a dog in a tuxedo.

"So," Jordan said, extending her hand. "Read my palm."

Maya stared at Jordan's hand. Her fingers were long, her nails painted this chipped black polish, and there was a tiny scar across her lifeline.

"I don't actually know how to—" Maya started.

"Fake it," Jordan whispered. "I won't tell."

So Maya did. She traced Jordan's palm with her thumb, trying to remember anything from her sister's explanations. Something about mounts and lines and—

"You're scared of something," Maya said quietly. "Like, really scared. But you're gonna do it anyway."

Jordan's eyes widened. "Whoa. Are you actually psychic?"

"No," Maya said honestly. "I just—I know what it's like to be scared all the time."

Jordan studied her for a long moment. Then she grinned. "Wanna get boba after this? My treat. For the reading."

Mr. President licked Maya's hand. Her palms were still sweaty, but for the first time in weeks, she didn't care.

"Yeah," Maya said. "I'd like that."