Sweaty Palms & Saturday Nights

My palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating through my jeans kind of sweating.

"You good, bro?" Marcus asked, bouncing a **baseball** between his hands like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Yeah. Totally. Just... vibing," I lied, doing my best to look chill and failing spectacularly.

We were at Sarah's party—the one everyone had been talking about all week at school. And by everyone, I meant mostly Sarah herself, who had somehow made it known that Jake from varsity would be there. Jake. The Jake who'd smiled at me in chem lab on Tuesday, causing me to nearly knock over my beaker and create a small chemical situation.

Marcus snorted. "Your face says otherwise, but okay. Just remember what I said—fake it 'til you make it."

Easy for him to say. Marcus had been dating Taylor since freshman year. I was still recovering from my middle school emo phase.

That's when it happened. Sarah's golden retriever, a good boy named Buster who definitely deserved better than whatever social disaster was about to unfold, came **running** through the backyard at full speed—straight toward me.

I didn't even have time to process what was happening before Buster launched himself upward, paws hitting my chest with the enthusiasm of a creature who had never met a stranger and had zero understanding of personal space.

I went down.

Like, full-on cinematic fall. Slow motion. Arms flailing. dignity completely evaporating.

And there I was, lying in Sarah's meticulously manicured grass, with a very wet **dog** currently attempting to befriend my face while at least thirty people watched. Including Jake.

"Buster! No!" Sarah came rushing over, looking horrified. "Oh my god, I'm so sorry! He's usually so—Buster, DOWN!"

"It's fine," I managed, sitting up and frantically wiping dog slobber from my cheek. "Good boy. Very... enthusiastic."

Then someone was helping me up. Strong grip. Calloused fingers.

"You okay?" Jake asked, and I was standing there, **palm** to palm with him, grass stains on my jeans, dog hair everywhere, completely and utterly mortified.

"Peachy," I squeaked. "Just... having a moment. With the dog. You know how it is."

Jake grinned, and something in my chest did a weird little flip thing that I would definitely be analyzing later when I was alone in my room.

"Yeah," he said, still holding my hand way longer than necessary. "I do."