Palm Readings & Parking Lot Truths

Marcus's palms were sweating. Again. He wiped them on his jeans, leaving dark streaks on the denim, just like they'd been doing all week since freshman year started at Northwood High. The vitamin C gummies his mom swore would help with "stress and growth" sat in his backpack like a secret shame—a daily reminder that he was trying to fix himself from the inside out.

"You're nervous," said Nova, leaning against the fence behind the football field. She didn't say it meanly. Just... observant. Nova, who somehow already had a squad and knew everyone and everything by week two.

"Nah," Marcus lied, voice cracking. "Just hot."

"Let me see your hand."

"What?"

"Your palm. I've been reading palms since summer camp. My aunt taught me. It's not, like, legit legit, but people love it."

Marcus hesitated, then extended his hand. Nova's fingers were cool against his skin, tracing lines he'd never really noticed. Her blue hair was pulled back with a scrunchie that had little cactuses on it.

"You're going to do something brave soon," she said, squinting at his palm like it held actual secrets. "This line here? It's all about confronting fears. Taking the bull by the horns, you know?"

Marcus almost laughed. The only bull in his life was Ty Miller, the junior who'd been tormenting him since Marcus accidentally knocked over his mountain bike in the parking lot. Ty had cornered him twice that week already, making fun of his cracked phone screen and asking loud questions about whether Marcus was "one of those weird kids who can't make eye contact."

"Ty's waiting by your bike," Nova said quietly, not looking up from his palm. "He does that to everyone. Think he's proving something."

"I know," Marcus said, stomach twisting.

"So what's your line say?" Nova pressed. "About the brave thing?"

Marcus thought about the vitamins in his backpack. Thought about how he'd spent the summer reading articles about how to reinvent yourself, how to be confident, how to stop being the kid who got nervous sweats every time someone looked at him too long.

He thought about how he'd signed up for drama class on a whim, even though the idea of performing made him feel like throwing up.

"I guess," Marcus said, pulling his hand back gently, "it says I'm done letting him win."

Nova smiled, showing a gap in her front teeth that he hadn't noticed before. "Good. Because there's this party on Friday, and I was thinking you should come."

Marcus's palms didn't sweat for the first time all week.