Sweaty Palms & Goldfish

Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically water plants with them. She gripped the red solo cup tighter, leaning against the wall like it was the only thing keeping her vertical. Jordan's house party raged around her—bass thumping, people laughing, the smell of cheap cologne and desperation hanging thick in the air. She smoothed her dad's vintage cable-knit sweater for the hundredth time, wondering why she thought dressing like a 90s grunge band member would help her blend in.

Across the room, Alex—her crush since seventh grade when he'd defended her drawing skills from Jason's roast—was trapped in conversation with Perfect Hair Chelsea. Maya felt like a goldfish with a three-second memory, repeatedly forgetting how to breathe every time she made eye contact with him. Which was zero times, because she was too busy staring at her dirty Vans.

A dog—somebody's golden retriever, clearly stoned on party vibes—wagged over and nudged her leg with a wet nose. Maya knelt down, grateful for the excuse to avoid human interaction. "At least you don't judge my outfit," she whispered, scratching behind his ears. The dog's tag read 'Buster.' "Same, Buster. Same."

"He likes you."

Maya straightened up so fast she almost spilled her drink. Alex stood there, hands shoved in his pockets, looking unfairly cute in his faded black tee. His palm-leaf hat was tilted back, revealing that annoyingly perfect jawline. This was it. Her brain short-circuited like a frayed cable.

"Uh, yeah. Dogs are cool." Maya wanted to die. Dogs are cool? Really?

Alex grinned. "You wearing that hat?" He pointed at her head.

Oh no. She'd forgotten. Her grandpa's fedora, which she'd put on as a joke and now couldn't take off because her hair was flat underneath. "It's... vintage?"

"It's bold." He stepped closer. "I like bold."

The dog chose that moment to sneeze shake his head—spraying both of them with drool. They cracked up laughing, and suddenly the party noise faded to background static. Alex wiped his sleeve, still grinning. "You wanna get out of here? I think Buster needs a walk. And I promised myself I'd actually talk to the cute girl in the fedora tonight."

Maya's sweaty palms didn't matter anymore. "Yeah. Let's bail."