Storm Warning

The bleachers behind the varsity baseball field had become our sanctuary. Whenever practice ran late, my friends and I would perch there, watching the team through the chain-link fence like they were celebrities instead of just guys we'd known since kindergarten. But tonight, everyone else had bailed by 8 PM, leaving just me and my phone, infinitely scrolling.

That's when Layla appeared.

She was new—moved here three weeks ago from somewhere with actual skyscrapers and public transportation. The kind of cool that seemed effortless, while mine felt like trying to solve algebra without showing my work. She dropped onto the bleacher beside me, smelling like vanilla and expensive shampoo.

"They're terrible tonight," she said, nodding toward the baseball diamond where someone had just struck out spectacularly.

"Always are," I said, then immediately regretted it. Why was I like this?

But Layla just laughed. "Good. Saves me from pretending to care about sports."

The sky had been bruising purple all evening, and suddenly—CRACK. Lightning forked across the horizon, close enough that the hair on my arms stood up. On the field, coaches started shouting, everyone scrambling for equipment.

"Bet that'll make them move faster," Layla said, unconcerned.

Then she turned toward me, extending her hand. "Read your palm once? Like, actually read it."

"What?"

"My grandmother taught me. It's stupid but... I don't know. Show me?"

I hesitated, then offered my hand. Her fingers were warm against my skin, sending a different kind of electricity through me. She traced the lines on my palm like they were maps to somewhere she wanted to go.

"You're going to fall in love," she said softly. "Like, embarrassingly, over-your-head, ruin-your-life-in-the-best-way fall in love. And someone's going to break your heart, but you'll survive it because you're stronger than you think. Also, you're going to somewhere with palm trees. That part's literal."

A second lightning strike illuminated her face—she was almost smiling, like she knew something I didn't. Maybe she did. Maybe that's what happens when you're the kind of person who believes in enough to read palms behind a baseball field during a thunderstorm.

"Show me yours," I said.

She shook her head. "Nah. I like surprises."

"Since when?"

"Since right now."

The coaches were yelling for everyone to clear the field as the sky opened up. We ran toward the covered area, soaked and laughing, and I thought: heartbreak sounds okay if it starts like this. If it starts with lightning and Layla's hand in mine and the feeling that maybe, just maybe, I was becoming someone worth knowing.