Sweaty Palms & Second Chances

Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her jeans—third time in two minutes—and tried to look chill. Across the cafeteria, Skylar and her squad were laughing at something, probably something that wasn't even funny.

That's when she saw him: the new kid, sitting alone, scrolling through his phone like his social life depended on it. Jake, she remembered. Transfer from somewhere cooler than this.

Maya's brain started running a mile a minute. Should she talk to him? No, too desperate. Should she wait for him to approach? Also no, that's passive-aggressive weird energy.

"Your dog's staring at me," a voice said.

Maya jumped. Jake was standing there, pointing at her phone case. The one with the corgi butt sticker.

"Oh! That's Barnaby. He's, uh, not my actual dog. My cousin's." Why did she say that? Now she sounded like a pathological liar about corgi ownership.

Jake's lip twitched. "Cool. I'm into dogs. My sister's dog literally ate my homework last week. Not even a joke—actual AP Physics worksheet."

Maya laughed before she could stop herself. Then she saw Skylar watching. Skylar, who'd been Maya's best friend until eighth grade when she decided Maya wasn't popular enough anymore.

"You running from something?" Jake asked, nodding toward where Maya had been staring.

"What? No. Just thinking."

"About those people over there?" He lowered his voice. "They keep looking at us."

"Long story. Not worth it." Maya paused. The old Maya would've pivoted to something safe. The new Maya, apparently, said: "Want to get out of here? There's this boba place down the street."

Jake's whole face changed. "Yeah. Yeah, I do."

As they walked out, Maya felt Skylar's glare burning into her back. Her palm was still sweating where she gripped her phone, but for the first time in forever, she didn't wipe it on her jeans.

She was too busy walking toward something instead of running away.