Sweaty Palms, Secret Hearts

Maya's palms were practically dripping as she stood outside Tyler's house. The party of the year. The social event that would define her entire existence until Monday morning, probably.

She ran a hand through her newly dyed blue hair, the curls springing back up like they had a mind of their own. Three hours and three YouTube tutorials to get it exactly right, and she still looked like a bundle of nerves disguised as a human being.

"You can do this," she whispered. "You are a cool, confident person who definitely belongs here."

Inside, the air was thick with cheap cologne and expectancy. Couples were already claiming corners of the couches, their hands tangled in each other's hair like they'd invented the concept. Maya felt like she'd walked into a movie where everyone had the script except her.

Then she spotted Sam Chen — varsity baseball player, current holder of Maya's entire crush capacity — leaning against the kitchen doorway. Her stomach did something ridiculous.

His eyes locked onto hers. He actually started walking over.

"Hey," he said, and then, in a terrible stage whisper, "I'm here undercover. My parents think I'm at the library."

Maya blinked. "The library closes at nine on Fridays."

"Exactly." Sam grinned, and there was something so un-polished about it that Maya felt her shoulders drop two inches. "Wanna see something actually cool?"

He led her past the patio into the backyard, where a couple of lawn chairs and a baseball bat sat near the fence. Sam picked it up, swinging it experimentally.

"Major league scout, here I come," he deadpanned, then hit three consecutive pinecones into the neighbors' yard with perfect form. "Or, you know, I could just play for the rec league forever."

Maya laughed, and it wasn't even fake. "You're weird."

"Weird is better than boring." He set down the bat and gestured to her hand. "Let me see your palm. I learned this from YouTube, so obviously it's 100% accurate."

"Seriously?"

"Scout's honor." He took her hand, his touch warm and deliberate. His thumb traced the lines of her palm like he was reading braille, like this ridiculous party game was something sacred. "You're going to do something brave tonight. I can see it."

Maya's heart hammered against her ribs. "Yeah? What else?"

He looked up, their faces inches apart. "That part's blurry. You'll have to write it yourself."

She could've leaned in. Should've, probably. But Maya Chen, who'd spent three hours perfecting her hair and exactly zero seconds being honest, pulled away and said, "I'm going to get some punch."

She walked back into the party alone, but for the first time all night, her hands weren't sweating at all.

Outside, Sam picked up the baseball bat and hit another pinecones toward the stars. And somewhere between the backyard and the kitchen, Maya started rewriting the script.