Sweaty Palms & Lucky Caps

Maya's palm was sweating so much she could practically water plants with it. Standing outside the gym, her vintage baseball cap pulled low, she practiced her opening line for the hundredth time. The spring dance was in two days, and she needed to ask Jordan—if she could even form actual sentences around them.

"You got this, Maya," she whispered, adjusting her hat like it was some kind of shield against impending doom.

Her friend Sasha rolled beside her on her skateboard, freshly dyed purple hair catching the sunlight. "Girl, you're overthinking it. Just walk up and say hey. What's the worst that happens?"

"Rejection? Humiliation? Having to move to another country?"

"Dramatic much?" Sasha laughed. "Remember last month when you accidentally live-streamed yourself falling off that stage? You survived that."

Maya groaned. "Can we never talk about that again? That video has more views than my entire existence."

The cable guy from school—everyone called him Bull because he'd once convinced the entire freshman class that the school's cable system was haunted—strode past with his crew. He caught Maya's eye and actually winked.

"Good luck with Jordan," he called, not unkindly. "They've been asking about you."

Maya's stomach did approximately 47 backflips. "Wait, really?"

"Bull wouldn't lie about that," Sasha grinned. "Now GO."

Maya took a deep breath, wiped her palm on her jeans one last time, and marched toward Jordan sitting on the bench. Her baseball cap felt like a crown now.

"Hey," she managed, voice only slightly trembling. "Want to save a dance for me?"

Jordan looked up, breaking into this smile that made Maya's knees forget how to work. "I thought you'd never ask."