Palm Reader Sunset

The bonfire crackled between us, casting shadows across my sweating palms. I'd been gripping this red solo cup like my life depended on it for twenty minutes while Jordan's friends traded stories about parties I hadn't been invited to.

"So, Maya," Jordan said, finally turning toward me. "You gonna say anything or just stand there looking like you're about to puked?"

Everyone laughed. I felt my face burning hotter than the fire.

Then a scrawny orange cat materialized from nowhere, weaving through legs and circling the bonfire like it owned the place. It paused at my feet, staring up with these weirdly intelligent green eyes.

"That's Ghost," someone said. "Stray that lives behind the beach club. Never comes near people."

The cat jumped onto the log beside me like we were best friends. Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Guess cats can sense their own kind."

I was about to make some lame excuse and leave when my phone buzzed. Mom again. ARE YOU OK?? HAVING FUN??

The anxiety that had been building all week suddenly spilled out. "Actually," I heard myself saying, "I'm not great. My mom's been texting me every five minutes since she found out about her sister—my aunt—yesterday. She hasn't spoken to her sister in fifteen years, and now she might not even get to say goodbye because—"

The cat butted its head against my hand.

"Because she's dying," I finished. "And I'm just... I don't know how to help."

The circle went quiet. Even the fire seemed to pause.

"Damn," Jordan said softly. "That's heavy."

Ghost purred against my leg like a tiny motorboat. Someone passed me a bottle of water instead of whatever they were drinking. Another person scooted over to make room on the log.

"My grandma died last year," a girl named Lisa said. "I barely spoke to her. I still think about it every day."

For the next hour, nobody talked about parties. We sat around that fire with an orange cat curled in my lap, trading stories about family drama and grief and all the messed-up stuff nobody posts about on Instagram.

Later, walking home under a sky that looked like spilled orange juice, I realized Ghost had shown me something better than any palm reader could: sometimes the most socially awkward moments lead to the most real connections.