Sweaty Palms & Stolen Hats

The party was already in full swing when Maya arrived, fashionably late but internally panicking. She smoothed down her dress for the thousandth time and adjusted the backwards baseball cap she'd stolen from her brother's closet. The hat was her armor—wearing it low over her eyes made her feel like she could observe without being observed, cool and detached instead of terrified.

Inside, the bass thumped against her chest. Every single person seemed to know exactly where they belonged, except her. Maya's palms were already sweating, gross and embarrassing, so she shoved her hands in her pockets and immediately fished out her iPhone. The screen lit up her face—thank god for the blue light hiding her flush.

She opened Instagram, then Snapchat, then back to Instagram. Anything to avoid making eye contact with anyone. Three notifications. Two DMs. Zero actual conversations.

"Hey, nice hat."

Maya nearly jumped out of her skin. A guy with messy curls and the kind of easy smile that made everyone instantly comfortable was standing there, holding two red cups. "My brother's," she said, way too fast. "I'm just—borrowing it."

He laughed, and it sounded genuine. "I'm Leo. You want something that's actually not terrible punch?"

Suddenly her iPhone felt like a brick in her hand. A safety net that was also a cage. She looked around—everyone else was living, laughing, being embarrassing and real and human. And she was just... watching through a screen.

Maya slipped the phone into her purse. Her palms were still sweating but she wiped them on her dress anyway and took the cup.

"I'm Maya," she said. "And I have zero idea what I'm doing here."

Leo's grin widened. "Same. Let's figure it out together?"

The hat stayed on, but Maya's head finally came up.