Sweaty Palms and Orange Soda

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically fill a swimming pool. Okay, that was dramatic, but still. Her phone buzzed again in her pocket – another text from Sophie asking if she was coming to the party.

"I don't know," Maya muttered to her reflection. "Do I really want to spend three hours watching people play beer pong with actual beer while I hide in the bathroom?"

Her cat, Mochi, blinked judgmentally from the bed.

"Fine. I'll go. But I'm leaving early."

The Miller house was already packed when Maya arrived. The backyard was basically a sea of juniors she'd never spoken to, all congregated around the above-ground pool like it was some sacred temple. Someone had orange beach towels draped over every available surface. It felt like everyone had their life together except her.

"Maya! You made it!" Sophie materialized, grabbing her hand before she could bolt. "Come meet everyone."

"Everyone" turned out to be six people playing chicken fights in the pool. Maya stood at the edge, clutching her orange soda like a lifeline while droplets of water splashed onto her sneakers. This was fine. Everything was fine.

Then she saw him. Liam. The guy she'd been secretly stalking on Instagram since August. He was sitting on the pool deck, his dark hair dripping wet, laughing at something someone said. Of course he looked good. Of course he was surrounded by friends who seemed genuinely thrilled to exist.

Maya's stomach did that terrible swooping thing it always did when Liam was around. Her palms started sweating again. Great. Now she'd have to wipe her hands on her jeans like a total weirdo.

"Hey," said a voice behind her.

Maya practically jumped out of her skin. It was Liam. Up close. Saying hey. To her.

"Hi," she squeaked. Smooth. "I like your... shorts."

He looked down at his swim trunks. "Thanks? My mom got them at Target."

Kill her now.

"Target's cool," Maya rushed to say. "I go there. Sometimes. For... stuff."

Liam laughed, and it wasn't mean. "You're funny. I'm Liam, by the way."

"I know," she said before she could stop herself. Then, panicking: "I mean, I've seen you around. School. You're in my bio class."

"Right," he said, smiling. "You're the one who drew that sick frog diagram on the midterm."

Maya felt her face heat up. "That was supposed to be a mitochondria."

"Honestly? Respect. Frogs over organelles any day."

They stood there for a moment, the sounds of the party swirling around them. Maya realized her palms had stopped sweating. She took a sip of her orange soda, and it didn't taste like anxiety anymore.

"So," Liam said, "you wanna get in the pool? Sophie said you're actually good at chicken fights."

Sophie. Maya was going to murder her.

"I'm okay," she said. "But thanks."

"Your loss." Liam grinned. "Maybe next time?"

"Maybe," Maya said, and something in her chest loosened. "Yeah. Maybe."

Later, when she got home, Maya sat on her bed and replayed the conversation in her head approximately five hundred times. Her palms didn't sweat once. Mochi jumped up and headbutted her arm, and Maya laughed, feeling something like hope settle in her chest like it belonged there.

She pulled out her phone and texted Sophie: Next time, I'm actually getting in the pool.

Then she added: And tell Liam his Target shorts are actually kind of fire.

Some things were worth the sweaty palms.