Poolside Palm Readings
I stood at the edge of Jessica's pool, clutching my towel like a lifeline. The water glittered with that Saturday-afternoon promise, but my stomach was doing full-on gymnastics. Everyone was already swimming—laughing, splashing, being the kind of comfortable that I hadn't felt since approximately fourth grade.
"You coming in or what?" Tyler called from the deep end. His wet hair dripped perfect droplets, while mine stayed stubbornly dry and definitely uncool.
"Yeah, just," I gestured vaguely at nothing, "warming up."
Warming up. Classic. Like swimming required preparation beyond having a functioning body and minimal coordination.
The truth was, my swimsuit was bright orange. Like, aggressively orange. The kind of orange that announced your presence before you even walked into a room. Mom had bought it because it was "on sale" and "safety color," which made exactly zero sense unless I planned to get lost at sea in a suburban backyard pool.
Maya appeared beside me, dripping wet and smelling like coconut sunscreen. She was pretty in that effortless way that made my chest tight. Her palm pressed against my arm—warm, soft, completely casual.
"You're shaking," she said.
"Cold," I lied.
"It's ninety degrees." She tilted her head, studying me with these dark, serious eyes. "You know, my cousin reads palms. She says shaking hands mean you're about to make a brave choice."
"That's, uh, not a real thing."
"Maybe." Maya grinned, mischievous and bright. "Or maybe you're just overthinking the orange suit."
I froze.
"It's bold," she continued, "which is literally the opposite of what everyone thinks about you. But maybe you're not actually shy. Maybe you've just been swimming in the wrong lane."
Something in my chest unlocked.
"Hold this," I said, shoving my towel at her.
The pool hit my skin like freedom—cool, shocking, absolutely alive. I surface-launched into a cannonball that was definitely too much and completely perfect. Orange suit flashing, palms finally steady, swimming into whatever came next.