Palm Readings and Dead Screens

Maya's phone was at 3% and dying faster than her social life. She clutched the iphone like a lifeline, thumb swiping through feeds she'd already checked twelve times because the alternative was actual conversation.

"You look like a zombie," said Leo, her oldest friend, grinning as he appeared beside her with nachos. "Dead eyes. Zero pulse."

"Funny," Maya muttered. "I'm just waiting for the right moment to leave."

The house party was loud and smelled like cheap body spray and desperation. Maya had been dragged here by Leo, who apparently believed that seventeen was the right age to suddenly become a social butterfly. Maya was still a caterpillar. A very anxious caterpillar with sweaty palms.

Literally. She wiped her right hand on her jeans for the third time.

Suddenly, a golden retriever burst through the sliding door, barking at someone's dropped pizza crust. Chaos erupted. The dog—Barnaby, according to someone screaming his name—knocked over a soda can and started lapping up the spill like it was champagne.

Everyone pulled out their phones to document the disaster. Maya's iphone, at its final 1%, died mid-recording.

"Great," she sighed.

That's when she noticed the girl on the couch. The only person not filming. She was watching Maya, dark eyes knowing. The girl had silver painted fingernails and looked like she attended parties purely to observe them.

"Your phone's dead," she said. "Mine's at 67%. Want me to charge yours?"

"Sure," Maya said, then made the mistake of extending her hand. Her palm was damp. Gross. But the girl didn't flinch. Instead, she held Maya's hand and traced the lines with her thumb.

"You've got a long life line," she said. "And your heart line curves up. You fall hard, huh?"

Maya's face burned. "I... I don't know what you're talking about."

"I'm Raven," the girl said, finally releasing her hand. "And I've been watching you all night. You're not a zombie, Maya. You're just asleep."

Outside, Leo was laughing, finally in his element. The dog—Barnaby—was being corralled by two guys wearing snapbacks. Someone put on a song everyone knew.

Raven held out her hand again. "Come dance with me. Or we can sit on the roof and talk about how much we hate house parties. Your call."

Maya looked at her dead phone, then at Raven's steady gaze. Something shifted. Like waking up.

"Roof," she said. "Definitely roof."