Palm Reads and Dead Cats

Maya's hand shook as Ms. Henderson placed her palm on the folding table. The whole sophomore class was watching from the gym bleachers, forming what someone had dubbed the "pyramid of humiliation" — popular kids at the top, everyone else cascading down.

"Your lifeline's interesting," Ms. Henderson said, tracing a finger across Maya's hand. "You're going to take a risk this weekend."

The gym erupted in oohs. Maya's best friend Jessie mouthed "what did you do?" from three rows up.

Nothing. That was the problem. Maya's life was a straight line of safe choices, perfectly curated posts, and never saying the wrong thing. Her Instagram aesthetic was neutral beige, her opinions carefully vague, her entire existence optimized to avoid criticism.

Until the cat incident.

It started behind the 7-Eleven, where a scrawny calico with half an ear had been living for months. Every day Maya walked past, every day she kept walking. Until Friday, when torrential rain turned the alley into a river and the cat's cardboard box into mush.

Maya stood there for twenty minutes, water soaking her limited-edition sneakers, calculating the social cost of being seen carrying a wet, possibly diseased cat through the school parking lot.

Then she grabbed the box.

Now it was Saturday, and Maya was supposed to be at Chloe's party. Chloe, who sat at the apex of every social pyramid. Instead, Maya was at an emergency vet, texting her mom one-handed while the cat — she'd named her Pyra — purred violently against her neck, her palm-sized head butting Maya's chin.

"She's going to be fine," the vet said. "But she'll need a home."

Maya's phone buzzed. Six texts from Chloe: "where r u", "everyone's asking", "this is awkward".

The next week at school, the pyramids shifted. Maya sat with Chloe's group sometimes. She sat with Jessie sometimes. She sat alone on the bench outside, where Pyra would sometimes show up to beg for snacks, and sometimes she sat with the quiet girl from honors bio who had a cat tattoo.

"I used to care what people thought," Maya told Jessie one day, scratching Pyra behind her remaining ear. "Then I realized everyone's too busy worrying about their own pyramids to notice mine."

Jessie laughed. "That's the most boomer thing you've ever said."

"Whatever." Maya held up her palm. "Want me to read your future?"

"Sure."

Maya traced Jessie's lifeline. "You're going to get a cat. And you're going to stop caring so much what Chloe thinks."

Jessie grinned. "Accurate."