Sweaty Palms and Snapbacks

Maya's palms were practically dripping as she clutched her phone cable like a lifeline. The house party raged around her — bass thumping, people she barely recogniz from school laughing in clusters, red cups everywhere.

"You gonna stand in the corner all night or what?"

Maya jumped. It was Leo, wearing that stupid backwards hat he never took off, even in class. The one everyone said made him look like a "tryhard." But up close, she noticed the faint stains on the brim — grease from working on his car?

"I'm... I'm good," she lied. Her phone was at 4%. Typical.

Leo squinted at her. "You need a charge? My room's got an outlet."

Something about his voice — not teasing, just — made her follow him upstairs. Away from the noise, her palms stopped sweating so bad. His room was surprisingly clean, posters of bands she actually liked.

"Here." He tossed her a cable from his desk. "I'm Leo, by the way. We have English together."

"Maya." She plugged in her phone. "I thought you were, like, popular popular."

"Me? Nah." He took off his hat, running a hand through hair that was actually kind of soft-looking. "I just play football 'cause my dad wants me to. I'd rather be in the garage fixing up that junker Mustang."

Maya sat on the edge of his bed. "My parents want me to focus on 'practical stuff.' But I really want to — "

"What?"

She took a breath. "I want to be a writer. Like, actually good stuff. Not just school assignments."

Leo's face lit up. "That's sick. You got anything I can read?"

Maybe it was the dim lighting, or that he'd taken off his hat — his armor, whatever — but Maya found herself showing him her Notes app. First time she'd ever let anyone read her real writing.

"This is legit," Leo said, and the way he looked at her — like she was someone worth knowing, not just the quiet girl in the back of English — made her palms stop sweating entirely.

When they went back downstairs, Maya didn't stand in the corner. And Leo kept his hat off.