Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's frizzy **hair** had a personality of its own, which was exactly why she spent forty-five minutes every morning trying to tame it into submission. Her bathroom counter looked like a science experiment—half-empty bottles promising to transform, define, and volumize. None of them worked.

"You should take **vitamin** D," her mom suggested for the third time that week, sliding a orange pill bottle across the kitchen table. "It'll help with everything. Your mood, your hair, your energy—"

"Ma, I'm literally fine." Maya shoved the bottle into her backpack anyway. Whatever made her mom stop worrying.

The problem wasn't really her hair. The problem was that she was about to start sophomore year and still hadn't figured out who she was supposed to be. The girls at school made everything look effortless—their outfits, their laughter, their perfectly imperfect beach waves. Meanwhile, Maya was still accidentally wearing her shirt backwards sometimes.

That afternoon, she met up with her friends at the beach. Lily was already there, sitting cross-legged under a **palm** tree, shading her eyes with one hand.

"Finally!" Lily grabbed Maya's wrist. "You have to let him read your **palm**. The guy by the pier says he can tell your future."

"That's such a scam," Maya said, but she let Lily drag her over anyway.

The palm reader was maybe twenty, with sun-bleached hair and a lazy smile. He traced the lines on Maya's hand and frowned dramatically.

"You're going to do something brave this year," he said. "Something unexpected."

Maya laughed nervously. "Me? Brave?"

"I see it." He tapped her palm. "Also, you're going to meet someone important. Someone who changes everything."

Later, as they walked back along the shoreline, Maya's toe caught something in the sand. An **orange**, slightly bruised, probably someone's abandoned lunch.

"Ew," Lily said, but Maya picked it up anyway.

"What? It's still good." She peeled it right there, sticky juice running down her fingers, and offered Lily a segment. The juice was sharp and sweet against the salt air.

"You're so weird," Lily said, but she took it.

The sun was setting, painting everything gold and pink. Maya looked at her friends—at Lily with orange juice on her chin, at Jordan who was accidentally swallowing seawater again, at the way they were all laughing so hard their sides hurt.

She thought about what the palm reader had said. Maybe she didn't need to figure out who she was supposed to be. Maybe she just needed to show up as herself—frizzy hair, weird orange-picking habits, and all.

"Hey," Maya said, "let's come back tomorrow."

Lily grinned. "Obviously."

And Maya felt it, then—that unexpected bravery. It wasn't loud. It was quiet as a heartbeat, steady as the tide pulling in. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.