Papaya Palm Reader

Maya's palms wouldn't stop sweating. She wiped them on her dress for the third time, watching Jordan across the room, laughing with his friends like he owned the place. This was it—her chance to finally talk to him at Lucas's party, and instead she was hyperventilating over fruit punch.

"You look like you're about to puke," said Chloe, sliding up beside her. "You good?"

"My hair's being basic and my palms are basically waterfalls," Maya whispered. "I can't do this."

Chloe's dog—a tiny, chaotic Yorkie named Pickles—was somehow also at this party, currently barking at someone's dropped phone. Because this was the kind of party where everyone brought their emotional support animals apparently.

"Jordan's coming over," Chloe hissed. "Fix your life. Fix your HAIR."

Maya's brain short-circuited. She grabbed the first distraction she could find—Lucas's weird dad's papaya truck. "I bet I can read your palm," she blurted as Jordan walked up.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "...What?"

"Palm reading. I'm basically psychic." She had no idea what she was doing. Her cousin had shown her YouTube videos once when they were both bored and avoiding math homework.

Jordan, because the universe was occasionally kind, sat down. "Alright, hit me with the future, Maya."

She took his hand—still sweating internally, trying to play it cool—and traced the lines. "This line means you're going to eat something very weird in the next ten minutes."

"Papaya?" he guessed.

"Papaya," she confirmed with zero psychic ability, just looking at the fruit truck behind them. "And you'll meet someone who changes everything."

He laughed, and Maya felt something weird and bright in her chest. "Wow. That's ominous."

"That's how futures work, Jordan."

Pickles the Yorkie chose that moment to steal someone's papaya slice, chaos erupting, and in the middle of it all, Jordan looked at Maya like she was actually interesting. Not popular-guy interesting, but person-who-makes-him-laugh interesting.

"Want to get papaya and make fun of everyone?" he asked.

Maya wiped her palms on her dress one last time and smiled. "I'd love that."

Her hair was still basic. Her palms were still sweating. But somehow, everything had changed.