Riddles at the Apocalypse Ball

I felt like a total zombie—three hours of sleep will do that to you—but senior prom was tonight and I wasn't missing it. Not even if my tux felt like it was choking me and my palms were so sweaty I'd probably leave marks on everything I touched. Classic social anxiety, right? Welcome to being seventeen.

Then I saw her across the gym. Maya. She'd gone all out—her dress was gorgeous, sure, but it was her expression that got me. She was standing completely still, arms crossed, watching everything like she was solving a puzzle. A total sphinx, giving away nothing. I'd been crushing on her since AP Bio turned into lab partners and she'd casually dissected a frog while explaining her theories on parallel universes.

"You look like you're calculating the exact moment the DJ will play 'Mr. Brightside' again," I said, suddenly beside her. Where had that confidence come from?

Maya turned, slow, considering. "Fifteen minutes. And he'll play it three times before midnight."

"That's some dark crystal ball energy."

"Not magic. Observation." She held out her hand. "Palm?"

"What?"

"Your hand. I'll read your future."

I laughed but let her take my hand. Her fingers traced my lifeline, and I forgot how to breathe. "You're going to do something brave tonight," she said softly. "Something you've been overthinking all year."

The air between us changed. Everything clicked—why she'd sat by me at lunch, why she'd laughed at my terrible jokes in Bio, why she was here now instead of with her friends.

"That's some bull," I managed, my voice barely steady. "You can't actually tell that from my hand."

"No," she smiled, and it was real this time. "But I've been waiting for you to figure it out."

So I did something brave. I asked her to dance. And when Mr. Brightside played for the third time, we were too busy laughing to care.