Sweaty Palms at the Deep End

The palm trees around Maya's pool cast these crazy shadows that looked like fingers reaching toward the water. I stood at the edge, clutching my towel like it was some kind of armor, while everyone else was already swimming—or pretending they knew how to swim without looking like a drowning duck.

"You coming in or what?" Jake called from the middle of the pool. He was treading water, looking all effortless and gorgeous in that way that made my stomach do actual gymnastics.

"Yeah, just..." I gestured vaguely at nothing. "Sec."

The truth was, I hadn't been swimming since seventh grade, when I accidentally kicked my crush in the face during a game of Sharks and Minnows. Trauma builds character, or whatever my mom says.

I felt someone standing next to me. Sofia, Maya's cousin who'd transferred from some private school across town and acted like she knew everything about everything.

"You're not going in," she said, more statement than question. She had this annoying habit of being right.

"I will. Eventually. When the water reaches optimal temperature."

Sofia laughed, actually laughed, and the sound surprised me. "You know what palm reading says about people who overthink pool entry?"

"That we're destined to become marine biologists?"

"That you're not afraid of the water," she said, turning her hand over, palm up. "You're afraid of how you look in it."

I stared at her palm, at the lines cutting through her skin like someone had drawn a map there. "Can you actually read palms?"

"My aunt taught me. Summer before freshman year, when she was going through her 'spiritual awakening' phase." Sofia grabbed my hand before I could react, her fingers warm against mine. "Your heart line is long. That's good—means you'll love deeply. Even when it's stupid to."

"And that's supposed to make me want to jump into a pool with Jake Torres watching?"

"No," she said, dropping my hand but keeping eye contact. "That's supposed to make you realize that worrying about how you look when you're swimming is literally the smallest thing you'll stress about. Your palm says you've got bigger dramas ahead."

I looked at Jake, then at the water, then back at Sofia who was already kicking off her flip-flops.

"Last one in does cannonballs off the diving board," I said, and before I could overthink it, I jumped.

The water hit me like a revelation—cold and shocking and absolutely perfect. Jake swam over as I surfaced, splashing me right in the face. His palm slapped the water next to mine, and I laughed so hard I got water up my nose.

Somehow, swimming toward the deep end with Sofia already doing a terrible backstroke behind me, I didn't care about looking cool anymore. My palms were pruned, my hair was a disaster, and Jake was smiling at me like I'd just invented being amazing.

Sometimes the scariest jumps are the ones that turn out to be the whole point.