Sweaty Palms & Screen Glow

Maya's palms were literally dripping. Not cute-dewy-fresh-dew dripping, but like actual nervous-sweat dripping. She wiped them on her jeans—again—and smooth-then-messed her hair for the third time in thirty seconds.

"You good, bestie?" Luna whispered from beside her on the basement couch. "You've been checking your iPhone like you're waiting for a text from the president."

"Cruz keeps looking at me," Maya whispered back, her heart doing that weird flutter thing that felt equal parts amazing and nauseating. "Like, actually looking. And I think I'm gonna die."

Luna rolled her eyes, but Maya saw the smile tugging at her mouth. "You're being dramatic. He's been looking at everyone. It's his party, Maya, he's supposed to—"

Then Cruz was there. Standing right in front of them. Maya's palms somehow got sweatier. Was that even possible?

"Hey," he said. His voice was deeper than she remembered. "You guys wanna try this?"

He held out his iPhone. Open on screen was some dumb palm reading app he'd downloaded, glowing in the dim basement light.

"It's actually scary accurate," he said, and his eyes lingered on Maya's hair—the same curls she'd been obsessively touching all night. "Maya, first."

Her hand literally shook as she held it out. Cruz took it gently, his fingers warm against her clammy palm (mortifying), and positioned it over the iPhone camera while Luna watched, grinning like she knew everything Maya wasn't saying.

The app chimed. Results loaded.

"'You're at a crossroads,'" Cruz read, his voice soft. "'Big changes coming. Trust yourself more.'"

He looked up then, really looked at her, and Maya forgot to breathe.

"That's actually kinda deep," she managed, her voice barely steady.

"Yeah," Cruz said, still holding her hand. "Yeah, it is."

Later, when he walked away and Luna immediately demanded the full recap, Maya wiped her palms one last time and smiled. Her hair was perfect. Her phone was silent. And for the first time all night, her hands had stopped shaking.