Palm Sweat & Prom Night
I felt like a **zombie** dragging myself through third period, eyelids heavy from studying until 2 AM for Mr. Henderson's chemistry final. The fluorescent lights buzzed like angry hornets, making my headache thump in time with the clock ticking on the wall.
"Earth to Maya," whispered Lina, sliding me a note. "You good? You look dead."
I shoved the note into my pocket, my palms already sweating at what I had to do tonight. Senior prom. The ultimate social battlefield where one wrong move could immortalize you as a meme forever.
After school, I positioned myself behind the library bookshelves—prime **spy** territory. Through the gaps between biographies, I watched Tyler at his locker. Tyler Martinez, who'd sat behind me in English since freshman year, whose laugh sounded like summer evenings. Tonight, I was finally going to ask him to dance.
My palms were so slick I could barely grip my phone. I checked it again: 6:47 PM. Prom started in thirteen minutes.
"You're going to **bear** the weight of regret forever if you don't go talk to him," Lina said, suddenly beside me. "Also, your palms look like they've been through a car wash. Nervous much?"
"Shut up," I muttered, wiping my hands on my dress. "I'm going. I am absolutely going."
But then I saw it: Tyler already had a corsage. Pink roses. Not for me. My stomach dropped through the floor.
I walked out into the parking lot, palm trees silhouetted against the sunset, and sat on the curb. Maybe I'd skip it. Maybe the zombie walk home was better than rejection.
"Hey." Tyler's voice.
I looked up. He stood there in a suit that was slightly too big at the shoulders, holding two corsages. "Pink ones are for my mom. She couldn't make it to graduation last year, so I always get her flowers for formal dances." He held out a white rose corsage. "This one's for you. If you want it."
I stared at him, my palm sweat somehow not important anymore. "You got me a corsage?"
"Since freshman year, Maya." He smiled. "I was just waiting for you to notice me too."