Sweaty Palms and Ghosted Calls

Maya's iPhone buzzed in her palm, the screen illuminating her anxious face in the darkened corner of Jordan's basement. Three notifications. All from group chats she'd been ghosting since the incident.

"You good?" Sam asked, sliding onto the couch beside her. The friend she'd been avoiding for weeks.

Maya's palms went sweaty. "Yeah. Just tired."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You've been 'just tired' since homecoming. What's actually up?"

The basement was packed. Someone's dog—a chaotic golden retriever—bounded through the crowd, knocking over a solo cup. Everyone laughed. Everyone except Maya, who felt like she was vibrating out of her skin.

"I messed up," Maya blurted. "That night. After homecoming. I sent that text to Tyler instead of you."

Sam stared. Then burst out laughing. "Dude. I know. Tyler showed me."

Maya's stomach dropped. "Wait, you know?"

"Yeah. He was like, 'Maya sent me this weird confession about being jealous of my friendship with you.' I was like, 'she's probably just drunk-texting the wrong person again.'" Sam grinned. "We're still cool."

The dog chose that moment to tackle Maya, licking her face with enthusiastic abandon. She giggled, pushing the furball away, her phone slipping from her palm and landing screen-up on the carpet.

Four new notifications lit the screen. Group chat messages asking where she was.

Maya looked at Sam. "I thought I lost you."

"You're not getting rid of me that easily." Sam nudged her shoulder. "Now grab a cup. Jordan's mom ordered way too much pizza."

Maya's phone stayed on the carpet, untouched. For the first time all night, her palms were dry.