Palm Readings & Play It Cool

Jordan's **dog** Buster had zero chill. That was the problem. Or maybe the problem was that Jordan had zero chill whenever Maya was within a fifty-foot radius. Either way, the combination was explosive.

"Buster, HEEL," Jordan hissed through clenched teeth, but the golden retriever was already **running** full speed toward the bench where Maya sat. The same Maya who'd moved to Oak Creek three months ago and immediately disrupted Jordan's entire carefully maintained social ecosystem. The same Maya who Jordan's supposed best friend, Tyler, had been making eyes at all week.

Buster reached Maya first, obviously. Because of course he did.

"Oh my gosh, hi!" Maya laughed, scratching behind Buster's ears as he immediately rolled over for belly rubs. The traitor. "Is he yours?"

"Yeah, sorry, he's—" Jordan started, but Maya cut in.

"I'm learning to read palms," she said, grabbing Jordan's hand before they could properly retreat. "Let me see."

Jordan's **palm** was sweating. Like, a lot. Maya's fingers were warm though, tracing the lines on their hand like she was solving some ancient cosmic puzzle that apparently determined whether Jordan was doomed to eternal awkwardness.

"You're going to do something brave soon," Maya said softly, looking up. "Like, really brave. Something that scares you but you do it anyway."

And maybe it was the way she said it, or the California sun filtering through the actual **palm** trees behind them, or just that Jordan was tired of watching Tyler make clumsy attempts to flirt with someone Jordan had been accidentally staring at in math for months. Maybe it was all of it.

"I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang out," Jordan blurted. "Like, without Tyler. Just us."

Maya's answering smile made Buster's betrayal completely worth it.

"Finally," she said. "I was wondering how long it would take you."