Running on Empty

The snapback sat backwards on my head, positioning me perfectly as someone who had their entire life figured out at seventeen. Total vibes. Except the hat was two sizes too big, and I was currently hyperventilating in Maya's bathroom while mumble rap shook the floorboards beneath my feet.

This is it, I thought, staring at myself in the mirror. The moment I officially become That Guy Who Can't Handle Social Situations. Again.

My palms were sweating so much they could've watered a small garden. Great. First, I'd spill soda everywhere. Then I'd accidentally insult Maya's older brother (who was definitely going through his emo phase again). Finally, I'd have to delete my socials and move to a yurt in Mongolia.

"You coming out or what?" The door banged open. Leo stood there, Red Solo cup in hand, grinning like he knew exactly how much I wanted to yeet myself into orbit.

"Dude," I said. "I'm literally having an out-of-body experience right now."

"Chill. Everyone's either too drunk or too focused on Sophia's new glow-up to notice your existential crisis." He leaned against the doorframe. "Unless you're planning on staying in here all night? Because that's significantly weirder than just being awkward."

I adjusted the hat, fixing my imaginary crown of confidence. "Fine. But if I embarrass myself, you're legally required to delete every photo of me from existence."

"Deal. Now come on—Sophia's doing palm readings and she somehow predicted that Jake would fail his chem test tomorrow. Suspiciously specific, right?"

Palm readings. Because obviously the universe wanted me to have my single future exposed to a room full of people I barely knew. The running playlist in my head switched from panic-induced chaos to straight-up disaster mode.

But somehow, Leo dragging me through the crowded hallway worked. Maya's living room felt like stepping into another dimension—fairy lights, bodies everywhere, someone singing along to a song that wasn't even playing. I grabbed a drink, leaned against the wall, and somehow ended up in a conversation about whether cereal counts as soup.

"Let me see," Sophia said, grabbing my hand before I could escape. She traced a line across my palm with manicured nails. "Oh, interesting. Very interesting."

The room went quiet. Because that's exactly what needed to happen.

"You're going to do something brave tonight," she announced dramatically. "I can feel it."

I laughed. "Brianna, I can barely make conversation without overthinking every single word that comes out of my mouth."

"Exactly." She winked. "Sometimes bravery looks like showing up, even when your brain is screaming at you to run."

Later that night, Maya's older brother cornered me by the snack table. "Nice hat," he said, and for a second I thought he was making fun of me. "Where'd you get it?"

"Thrift store in town," I said, my voice steady for the first time all night. "Eight bucks. Best investment of my life."

"No way," he said. "I've been looking for a vintage one like that forever. We should thrift sometime."

We talked about music and bad high school decisions for twenty minutes. No sweating palms. No overthinking. Just conversation, flowing like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Walking home at midnight, Leo high-fived me so hard my hand stung. "See? You didn't have to move to Mongolia after all."

The hat stayed on my head the whole way home, no longer a costume but somehow part of me. Maybe Sophia was right. Maybe bravery wasn't about running toward explosions or giving inspirational speeches in slow motion. Maybe it was just showing up, staying put, and letting yourself be seen—even when every instinct screamed to disappear.

My phone buzzed. A text from Maya's brother: thrift run this weekend?

I grinned at the screen, adjusting the brim of my hat. Game on.