Poolside Palm Reader

Maya's palms were sweating, and not just from the ninety-degree heat baking the pool party into submission. She'd been cyber-stalking Jake's Instagram for three weeks straight—a total low-key spy mission to learn everything about the new transfer student. Now here he was, actual human-sized, wearing a swim shirt and looking unfairly comfortable in a sea of juniors she'd known since kindergarten.

"You look like you're plotting someone's murder," said Ren, nudging her with a pool noodle. "Or maybe just observing your target like the FBI agent you are."

"Shut up," Maya muttered, tucking a strand of frizzy hair behind her ear. She'd spent forty-five minutes trying to tame the post-swim-practice chaos, but humidity was undefeated. "I'm not plotting. I'm... existing. Intelligently."

"You're basically bearing the weight of your entire future social standing on whether Jake Thompson notices your存在 today," Ren said, somehow pronouncing the Chinese word perfectly while floating on a neon pink flamingo. "Also, you're blocking the diving board."

Maya moved aside, pressing her back against the warm concrete. She'd spent all summer reinventing herself—new haircut (disaster), new wardrobe (closet explosion), new confidence (still buffering). But standing here in her two-piece, surrounded by girls who'd been waxing and exfoliating since seventh grade, she felt like the same awkward freshman who'd once walked into a glass door trying to look cool.

Then Jake swam over, water streaming off his hair like something from a movie. He pulled himself up, dripping and impossibly close.

"Hey," he said. "You're Maya, right? From AP Bio?"

Her brain short-circuited. "Yes. No. I mean—yeah. That's me. The biology one. Not that I'm just biology. I'm also... other things."

Jake laughed. Not the scary laugh. The nice one. "I figured. You always have the best notes. I was gonna ask—" He held out his hand, palm up. "Can I see your phone for a second? I swear mine died at, like, seventeen percent, and my mom's freaking out about carpool coordination."

Maya stared at his hand. His actual palm, right there. Waiting.

"You okay?" Jake asked, after three seconds of what felt like absolute eternity.

"Palm reading!" Maya blurted. "I mean—my grandma taught me. Not that I'm actually psychic or anything. But I could. If you wanted. Your lifeline is probably really interesting."

Ren snorted so hard water came up her nose.

But Jake didn't laugh. He studied his own palm, thoughtful. "Actually, that's sick. My mom's super into that stuff. She says I have a complicated fate line."

Maya's heart performed something that felt suspiciously like a backflip. "I could tell you what I see," she said, finding something new in her voice—something brave. "If you want."

Jake settled onto the pool edge beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched. "Yeah," he said. "I want."

And just like that, Maya wasn't spying anymore. She was right here. Exactly where she needed to be.