Static in the Palm

Maya's hand wouldn't stop shaking. Not in a terrified way — more like her **palm** had absorbed too much caffeine and teenage anxiety and was now vibrating at a frequency that only dogs and her own nervous system could detect.

"You're literally doing it again," Zara said, not looking up from her phone. They sat on Maya's front steps, the summer humidity already oppressive at 7 PM. "The hand thing. Stop. You're gonna psych yourself out before we even get there."

"I can't help it!" Maya pressed her hand against her knee. "What if I mess up? What if someone records it and it becomes a whole thing and I have to move to a different state and change my name to something un-googleable like... Brenda?"

Zara finally looked up, deadpan. "Brenda? Really? That's your apocalypse scenario?"

"Shut up, you know what I mean."

The truth was, Maya had been **running** from this moment for weeks. Every time Jay glanced at her in AP World — which happened approximately never, because why would it, when Chloe existed with her perfect hair and her ability to make everything look effortless — Maya's brain would short-circuit. But tonight was Chloe's birthday party, and somehow, someway, Jay had mentioned he might show up, and Zara had decided this was THE night Maya would finally say more than three consecutive words to him.

"Listen," Zara said, suddenly serious. "You're overthinking. Just be normal. Well, your version of normal. The one that makes terrible jokes and can't sleep without three pillows. That version."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"I'm literally building you up, accept the compliment."

Then it happened — that summer storm thing where the sky just DECIDES. One moment: stars. The next: the sky cracked open, **lightning** fracturing everything like someone dropped the universe and it shattered.

Both girls screamed, scrambling for the door as rain came down sideways. They burst into Maya's foyer, soaked instantly, hair plastered to their faces, makeup probably creating terrifying streaks.

Then they caught their reflections in the hallway mirror.

"Oh my GOD," Maya gasped. "We look like –"

"Drowned raccoons," Zara finished, and then they were both laughing, doubled over, the kind of laughter that sits in your chest and won't leave, the kind that makes your stomach hurt and your eyes water and suddenly the party didn't matter, or Jay, or whatever version of herself Maya thought she needed to be.

Her palm wasn't shaking anymore.

"Okay," Maya said, wiping rain from her face, grinning like an idiot. "Okay. Let's go to this party. If we're gonna be disasters, let's at least be ENTERTAINING ones."

"Now THAT'S the energy," Zara said, grabbing her hand. "Also, we might need umbrellas. Just a thought."