Palm Reading at the Afterparty

Maya's cat, Miso, gave her that look—the one that said, You're actually going? Like, for real?

"Shut up, Miso," Maya muttered, smoothing her vintage orange thrift store dress. It was already 11 PM, and Liam's party was in full swing. The junior year social hierarchy was in full effect, and Maya—quiet, quirky Maya—was about to crash it like a zombie stumbling into a shopping mall. She'd been taking these anxiety vitamins her mom swore by, but so far? Nothing.

When she arrived, the bass was already rattling her chest. Liam's basement smelled like cheap body spray and desperation. Maya grabbed a soda and positioned herself near a potted palm tree in the corner, doing her best to look like she belonged.

Then she saw him: Ryan, leaning against the wall, scrolling through his phone with that bored expression that somehow made everyone want his attention. He looked up, caught her eye, and actually smiled.

"Hey," he said, drifting over like he wasn't the most sought-after guy in their grade. "You're Maya, right? From AP Bio?"

She almost choked on her soda. "Yeah. Hi."

"This party's kind of dead, yeah?" Ryan gestured at the grinding bodies nearby. "Like, everyone's performing. It's weird."

Maya laughed before she could stop herself. "I feel like I'm watching a documentary on high school rituals from another planet."

Ryan's eyes lit up. "Exactly!" He pulled up his palm. "Wanna know something messed up? My aunt taught me palm reading at family reunions because she thought it'd make me popular."

"No way."

"Yes way." He gently took her hand—her actual palm, skin touching skin, and Maya's brain short-circuited. "Your head line is long, which means you overthink everything. Your life line curves, which means you're adaptable. And here—" His finger traced a small line near her thumb. "This is your relationship line, and it's got a break, which means you're about to meet someone unexpected."

Maya's heart was doing full gymnastics. "That's so fake."

"Totally," Ryan said, still holding her hand. "But sometimes fake is exactly what you need."

Later, when Maya finally crawled into bed at 2 AM, Miso jumped onto her chest, purring like a tiny motor. The cat headbutted her chin, and Maya laughed into the darkness.

"You were right," she whispered to the empty room. "I should've stayed home."

But when her phone lit up with a text from Ryan— Palm reading session 2.0? This time, you read mine. —Maya realized something unexpected: sometimes the most zombie-like nights end with feeling more alive than ever.

She fell asleep with a smile on her face and orange cat fur all over her dress.