Palm Sweat & Fakeouts

My palms were sweating. Like, actually dripping wet. Which was exactly why I'd spent the last hour hiding them in my pockets at Tyler's end-of-summer rager.

"You gonna stand there all night or what?" Maya appeared beside me, holding out a red plastic cup. Her hair was somehow still perfect despite the humidity, and I was instantly five times more nervous.

"I'm not standing," I protested. "I'm strategically positioned."

She laughed, and I felt that thing in my chest – that **lightning** strike everyone writes about in songs and young adult novels. Turns out, clichés exist for a reason.

"Strategically positioned to avoid getting pushed into the pool again?" she teased.

"That was ONE time. And Marcus pushed me."

"Uh-huh." She took a sip from her cup. "So what's actually going on with you? You've been acting weird all summer."

I opened my mouth to deflect – cracked a joke, changed the subject, whatever – but then I looked at her and something shifted. Maybe it was the fairy lights strung up in the **palm** trees around Tyler's backyard. Maybe it was the fact that she'd bothered to notice something was off. Or maybe I was just done being a coward.

"I've been thinking about college," I admitted. "And how everyone keeps asking what I'm gonna do with my life, and I honestly have no clue, and it feels like everyone else has this five-year plan while I'm just trying to decide between regular or honey wheat bread at the grocery store."

Maya set her cup down on a nearby table. "That's it? That's the big mystery?"

"Is that not enough?"

"No, I just –" She shook her head, smiling. "I thought you were mad at me or something."

"What? Why?"

"You barely talked to me at Jayden's party last week. Then you bailed early without saying bye."

"Oh my god, no." I ran a hand through my hair. "My mom made me leave early because my aunt was in town. And I barely talked to you at Jayden's because my brain short-circuits around you sometimes."

The words hung there. Just floated in the humid air between us.

"Oh," Maya said softly.

"Yeah. Oh." I looked at anything but her. "This is the part where you say something. Any thing."

She didn't say anything. Instead, she walked over to the cooler, grabbed a **water** bottle, and pressed it to my flushed cheek.

"You're literally overheating," she said. "It's kind of adorable."

"I'm dying, Maya. This is my ghost communicating from beyond the grave."

"Your ghost has terrible comedic timing."

The sliding glass door opened behind us. Tyler stumbled out, face bright red. "Yo! Someone just filled the pool with dish soap. It's literally a bubble bath out there. Who did it?"

No one said anything.

"**Bull**," Tyler said, looking directly at Marcus. "You posted the TikTok about doing this exact thing last week."

"Allegedly," Marcus called from somewhere inside the house.

Maya looked at me, and we both started laughing. She slipped her hand into mine – my palm was still sweaty, which was gross, but she didn't seem to care.

"You know," she said, "I don't have a five-year plan either."

"Really?"

"I barely have a five-day plan." She squeezed my hand. "But we can figure it out. Together."

The pool overflowed with bubbles onto the patio. Tyler chased Marcus around the backyard. And for the first time all summer, my palms were dry.