Palm Sweats and Cat Eyes

My palms were literally sweating through my favorite black skinny jeans. Okay, not literally through—that's impossible. But my actual palms were slick enough that I kept wiping them on the denim like a total weirdo.

First house party of freshman year and I was already spiraling. Maya's text had said "wear whatever," which we all know is a trap. It means "wear something cute but not trying too hard but not like you don't care but also be unique." Impossible standards.

The front door swung open and there he was—Liam, looking annoyingly good in that way where you can tell he thinks he just threw on whatever. His golden retriever energy was working overtime, grinning at everyone like we were all his best friends since kindergarten. Total golden retriever energy, even though he was 100% human. My brain knew this. My nervous system did not get the memo.

"Hey!" He high-fived someone passing by. "Nice to see—oh, hey, I'm Liam."

Our eyes locked and my palms suddenly felt even grosser.

"Chloe," I squeaked. Cool. Very chill.

"Chloe, nice. You from Spanish?"

"Yeah, third period."

"Dope, I sit in the back and zone out mostly."

He laughed. I laughed. A normal human laugh, not whatever weird sound I'd been rehearsing in my mirror.

Maya appeared with—holy shit—her cat on her shoulder. An actual calico cat, perched like a parrot, because apparently that's something people do now?

"This is Bean," Maya said, like it was completely normal. "She gets anxious when I have people over."

"That's actually iconic," Liam said, scratching behind Bean's ears. "My dog would lose it."

"Wait, you have a dog?" I asked before I could stop myself. Smooth, Chloe. Very casual.

"Yeah, Bear. He's this giant furball, thinks he's a lap dog."

We talked about Bear and Bean for twenty minutes while other people filtered in and out. My palms dried. I forgot to be nervous. By 11 PM, when Maya's mom called for pizza, I'd learned Liam's star sign (Sagittarius, whatever that means), his favorite video game, and that he'd moved here from Seattle three months ago.

"Hey," he said as we reached for the last slice. "You want to hang out after Spanish tomorrow?"

My palms didn't sweat this time. "Yeah," I said. And I meant it.