Palm Sweats & Screen Time

Maya's iphone buzzed for the third time in thirty seconds. Her palm sweat was making the screen slippery — gross, but also kind of perfect metaphor for how this whole conversation with Kai was going.

"You coming to Jordan's party?" his read.

Maya stared at the ceiling. She'd been running through possible responses in her head for ten minutes. Way longer than she should've spent thinking about it. Way longer than she spent thinking about literally anything else today.

Her little sister burst into the room. "You're still in bed? It's 2 PM!"

"I'm contemplating existence," Maya mumbled, still clutching her phone like it was a bomb that might explode social awkwardness all over her comforter.

"You're contemplating Kai's profile pic again, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Leah."

Leah grabbed Maya's pillow and hit her with it. "Just go! What's the worst that could happen?"

Maya sat up, her hair somehow simultaneously messy and impressive. "I could say something weird. I could spill something on myself. I could —"

"You could actually have fun for once?"

That hit different. Because Leah wasn't wrong. Maya had been spending so much time worrying about everything that could go wrong, she'd forgotten what going right felt like.

Her phone buzzed again. Another text from Kai.

Maya took a deep breath, wiped her palm on her jeans (twice), and typed back: "Yeah, I'll be there."

Then she tossed her phone onto her bed and started getting ready. She wasn't running from the possibility of embarrassment anymore. She was running toward the possibility of something actually happening for once.

And if her palms stayed sweaty the whole time? Whatever. Some things were worth sweating for.