Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's sweaty palm pressed against her mom's old cargo jeans as she stood outside Jordan's house. The bass from inside vibrated through the concrete, making her stomach do that nervous flip-flop thing.

"You good?" Riley asked, text lighting up her phone screen. "You look like a zombie."

"Zombie mode activated," Maya typed back, forcing a laugh emoji. "Coming in now."

Inside, the air smelled like cheap cologne and anxiety. Someone had set up a makeshift palm reading station in the corner—Madison from English class was doing "readings" for five dollars, armed with a deck of tarot cards she'd probably found at a thrift store.

"Your turn," Riley whispered, shoving Maya forward before she could bail.

Madison grabbed Maya's palm, tracing the lines with exaggerated seriousness. "Ooh, interesting. This life line? It says you're gonna survive Jordan's party."

The group of seniors nearby snorted. Maya felt her face burn. This was it—her social death, live and direct.

Then chaos erupted. Luna's emotional support cat, Potato (who was definitely NOT supposed to be at the party), bolted from someone's backpack and scaled the curtains like his life depended on it.

"POTATO, NO!" Luna screamed.

The cat launched himself—straight onto the senior guy's head. He yelped, stumbling backward and knocking over Madison's table. Tarot cards scattered everywhere like confetti.

And there it was: the card that had landed face-up under the sofa. The Bear—strength, grounding, standing your ground.

Maya started laughing. Like, actually laughing, not the polite performative stuff she'd been doing all night. Within seconds, half the party was cracking up too. Even Mr. Senior-with-Cat-Head was chuckling as he gently detached Potato's claws from his hair.

"Bear card," Maya wheezed, pointing at the escaped tarot. "That's literally my spirit animal right now."

Riley high-fived her. "Resilience level: thousand."

Later, as they walked home under streetlights, Maya's palm didn't feel so sweaty anymore. The anxiety bear was manageable. She'd survived the zombie party, made friends with a cat-assisted social disaster, and actually—maybe, just maybe—had fun.

"Next time?" Riley asked.

Maya grinned. "Next time."