Palms, Curveballs, and The Truth

Leo's palm was sweating so much his phone almost slipped out of his hand.

"Bro, you're tweaking," Marcus said, flopping onto Leo's bed. "It's just baseball practice. Not the NBA draft."

"It's not just practice," Leo groaned. "Coach is watching. This determines varsity. If I choke, I'm sitting the bench all junior year. Again."

Marcus sat up. "So let me do it then."

"Do what?"

"My cousin knows this lady. Reads palms. Boardwalk. She told my sister she'd meet a tall dark stranger and literally two days later——"

"——your sister started dating that college guy. Yeah, I remember. What's your point?"

Marcus grabbed Leo's wrist and flipped his hand over. "Your lifeline's messed up. You need clarity. We're going. I'm driving."

"You don't even have your license yet,"

"Technicality. Come on."

The boardwalk smelled like fried dough and teenage desperation. Marcus found the neon-purple tent immediately: MYSTIC MALIA. SEE YOUR FUTURE.

"This is so sus," Leo said, but Marcus was already pushing him through the velvet curtain.

Inside, crystals dangled from the ceiling. A woman with silver-streaked hair and way too much eyeliner looked up. "Who's first?"

"Him," Marcus pointed. "He has baseball trauma."

Malia took Leo's hand. Her fingers were dry and paper-thin. She traced the lines on his palm like she was reading a map.

"You're holding something in," she said suddenly. "Something that's got nothing to do with sports."

Leo opened his mouth——to deny it, to laugh it off——but nothing came out.

"A friend," she continued. "Someone who thinks you're something you're not. And you're too scared to correct them."

Outside the tent, Marcus was already at the concession stand buying churros.

Leo found himself saying it before he could overthink it: "I quit the team, Marcus."

Marcus froze. "What?"

"Two weeks ago. I didn't get cut. I just——I don't even like baseball. My dad does. You do. Everyone assumes I'm this baseball guy but I literally hate it. I joined the art club instead."

The silence stretched. Seagulls screamed overhead.

Then Marcus started laughing. Not mean laughing. Real laughing.

"Bro," he wiped his eye. "I knew."

"What?"

"I've known since seventh grade when you drew that dragon on my notebook instead of watching the championship game. I just——I thought if you actually wanted to quit, you would've told me."

"I thought you'd think I was being dramatic."

"Leo, I literally wore a cape to school for a solid month. I don't get to judge anyone for being dramatic."

Leo exhaled. Like actually exhaled, for the first time in months.

"So we're good?"

"We're good. But you're still coming to my games though. I need someone who understands how messed up the umpire calls are."

"Bet," Leo said.

And for the first time all summer, his palm wasn't sweating at all.