Papaya Palm Reader

Maya's palms were practically dripping. Which would've been fine if she were, like, normal nervous about the spring fling. But she was parked behind a folding table with a neon sign that read FORTUNES $5 in her mom's cursive handwriting, while half the sophomore class stood in line.

"Next!" Chloe waved, perfectly manicured. Maya wiped her palms on her floral skirt before reaching out. "Okay, give me your hand."

Chloe's friends giggled. Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to exist. Her abuela had taught her palm reading back in Mexico, but here? It felt like carrying papaya through the cafeteria. Weird. Exotic. Totally not what the cool kids did.

"Ooh, what's this line?" Chloe pointed, curious despite herself.

"Heart line," Maya said, gaining confidence. "You're gonna fall for someone unexpected."

Chloe's eyes widened. "Like who?"

Maya paused. Then saw him — Leo, running across the gym in those ridiculous basketball shorts he lived in, shouting something about the DJ playing the wrong song. Suddenly, the nervousness cracked open like a ripe papaya, sweet and unexpected.

"Someone who makes you laugh," Maya said softly. "Even when they're being completely embarrassing."

Chloe's face flushed pinker than the fairy lights. Their friends went Ooooooh.

Afterward, Maya found Leo outside, breathing hard from whatever emergency had required his sprint.

"Heard you're a psychic now," he said, grinning.

"Fortune teller," she corrected. "And you owe me five bucks."

He laughed, and something about the sound made her palms stop sweating. Maybe some things, like papaya at lunch or palm reading at school dances, weren't weird at all. Maybe they were just her.