Sweaty Palms & Snapbacks

Maya's palms were basically swimming pools at this point.

"You're gonna be fine," Sam said, leaning against my locker like they owned the place. "Just don't say 'like' every three seconds and you'll survive."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered, clutching my phone. "You're not the one meeting your crush at a PARTY. Like, who even goes to parties anymore?"

Sam adjusted their backwards snapback—bold fashion choice for a Tuesday—and grinned. "Your new best friend, that's who. Come on. I'll be there. Emotional support and all that."

The thing about Sam is they'd been my ride-or-die since sixth grade, when we both got detention for accidentally setting off the fire alarm trying to microwave popcorn. We'd been thick as thieves ever since, through acne explosions and failed math tests and my entire emo phase.

But tonight felt different. Tonight was social suicide waiting to happen.

When we got to Jake's house, the music was already thumping. I adjusted my own hat—a beanie pulled low because obviously—and Sam practically had to drag me inside.

"You got this," they whispered, before abandoning me to go flirt with some sophomore.

Rude. But fair.

I found Jake on the back porch, weirdly alone. He was doing something with his hands—looking at his palm?

"Hey," he said, jumping like I'd scared him. "Maya, right?"

"Yeah. Hi." My voice came out squeaky. Fantastic.

Then I noticed what he was actually holding. A tiny origami crane, folded from a gum wrapper.

"My little sister taught me," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I fold them when I'm nervous. Social anxiety club, you know?"

I stared at him, then at my own hands—still sweaty, still shaking.

"No way," I said, feeling something shift in my chest. "I literally have a stash in my backpack. I make them during algebra."

Jake's face lit up. "You're kidding."

"Want me to teach you the frog? It's way harder."

We spent the next hour folding origami on his porch steps while the party raged inside. And when Sam found us later, surrounded by paper animals and laughing like idiots, they just smirked.

"Called it," they said, tipping their snapback. "Best wingman award goes to me."

"You literally left me alone," I pointed out.

"Details."

My palms weren't sweating anymore. Sometimes the best nights aren't the ones you plan for.