Palm Readings & Vitamin Water

The carnival lights blurred against my sweaty palms. Three vitamin gummies churning in my stomach — Mom's brilliant idea for my "social anxiety." What she doesn't get is that junior year isn't a deficiency you can supplement away.

"You're literally vibrating," Mateo said, handing me a bottle of vitamin water like it would somehow fix whatever was broken. "Just talk to them."

"Bull," I shot back. "You first."

We were leaning against the ferris wheel fence, watching Jordan and their friends by the palm reader booth. Jordan's laugh cut through the carnival noise — bright, effortless, the kind of laugh that belonged to someone who'd never taken a stress vitamin in their life.

The fortune teller's tent was decorated with fake palm trees and neon signs. MIDNIGHT MADAME, TRUTH-TELLER, SEE YOUR FUTURE. Something about it felt ridiculous and magnetic all at once.

"I dare you," Mateo said, reading my mind. "Ask her about Jordan."

"That's not how it works."

"Bull. It's exactly how it works. You pay twenty bucks, she looks at your palm, tells you something vague enough to mean whatever you want it to mean, and you either make your move or you don't. But at least you'll know."

My hands were shaking when I stepped toward the booth. The vitamin water tasted like artificial courage and regret. What was I even doing? This wasn't me — the girl who carried emergency supplements and avoided eye contact in hallways.

But then Jordan looked over, caught my eye, and smiled. Just a small one, but real.

And suddenly I was moving, crossing the distance between who I was and who I wanted to be. The palm trees swaying in the fake breeze, the neon sign buzzing overhead, my heart somewhere in my throat.

"Hey," Jordan said, like they'd been waiting. "You gonna get your fortune told or what?"

I laughed, and for once, it didn't feel forced.

"Yeah," I said. "Yeah, I think I am."