Palm Reading at the Party

Maya's palms were sweating. Literally sweating. She wiped them on her denim shorts for the third time, clutching her iphone like a lifeline. The party noise washed over her—loud music, louder laughter, the kind of social energy that usually made her feel like a zombie before 11 PM.

"You look like you're about to throw up," said a voice behind her.

Maya turned to see Luna, the girl from her history class who wore vintage band tees and kept a crystal on her desk. Luna held out a hand. "Let me see your palm."

"What? Why?"

"Palm reading. My grandma taught me. It's better than staring at your screen all night."

Maya hesitated, then extended her hand. Luna's fingers traced the lines on her palm with surprising gentleness.

"You're a thinker," Luna said. "This head line goes deep. You overthink everything. But see this?" She pointed to a small intersecting line. "This means you're about to take a risk."

Maya laughed nervously. "The only risk I'm taking is socially awkward silence."

"That's not what your palm says." Luna reached into her pocket and pulled out a small bottle. "Here. Vitamin C. For your immune system. And your confidence."

"That's not how vitamins work."

"That's exactly how they work," Luna grinned. "Now put the phone away and actually talk to people. Or don't. But at least be present while you decide."

Maya looked at her iphone, then at Luna, then at the room full of strangers who suddenly seemed less zombie-like and more like actual teenagers who might also be nervous. She pocketed the vitamin bottle and her phone together.

"Okay," Maya said. "But if this goes wrong, I'm blaming your palm reading skills."

"Deal." Luna winked. "But I should warn you—my success rate is scarily good."