Running From Zombies at the Pool

My palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating, which was exactly what you didn't want when you were about to read someone's palm at the biggest party of the summer.

"You're gonna tell me I'm gonna meet a tall, dark stranger," Ryan said, grinning like he'd already heard this joke a thousand times. Probably had. Ryan was the kind of guy who collected party tricks like Pokémon cards.

The pool behind us reflected string lights, that whole magical California summer vibe that felt miles away from my actual life. I was supposed to be **swimming** in this social scene, not drowning in it. Instead, I felt like a **zombie** — running on three hours of sleep and too much iced coffee, just going through the motions because that's what you did when you were a freshman trying to exist in a world of seniors who already had their lives figured out.

I stared at Ryan's **palm**. The lines looked like someone had scribbled them with a cheap ballpoint during third period.

"Okay, so," I started, channeling my best "mystical" voice. "Your life line is... surprisingly straight. Like, you don't take detours."

"Straight as an arrow, baby," Ryan said.

"And your heart line—" I paused. I didn't know what I was doing. I'd watched ONE YouTube video about palm reading before deciding this would be my "thing" at parties. The thing that made me interesting. The thing that wasn't just "that quiet kid who reads too much."

But suddenly I wasn't at the party anymore. I was back in that moment last week when Jake Miller — the actual **bull** of our school, in every terrible high school movie way possible — had slammed my locker shut and asked if I was "gonna be weird all year." And I'd just stood there. Not said anything. Just taken it.

I was tired of being the person who took it.

"Your heart line says you're full of **bull**," I heard myself say.

Silence. Actual silence at a pool party. Ryan's grin faltered. Someone nearby stopped mid-laugh.

"What?"

"You heard me," I said, and my voice wasn't shaking anymore. "You want me to tell you something mystical? Fine. Here's something mystical: you're so worried about being cool that you've forgotten how to be real. That line? It's not a heart line. It's a lie line."

And then I was **running**.

Not away. Just running. Past the pool, past the string lights, past all the people who were definitely staring. I ran until my lungs burned, until the humid summer air felt like something I could actually breathe.

My phone buzzed six times before I stopped. Three texts from Ryan: "DUDE." "That was SICK." "You coming to Alexa's tomorrow?"

I stood there under a streetlamp, sweating and breathless, and for the first time in months, I didn't feel like a zombie anymore.

I felt real.

Yeah, I thought, palms still tingling. I could work with this.