Sweaty Palms & Sunset Skies

Marcus's palms were sweating so much his phone was practically slipping through his fingers. Three texts in the group chat, and still no response from *her*.

"Bro, you good?" Tyler asked, slumping onto the cafeteria bench next to him. "You look like you're about to pass a kidney stone."

"I'm fine," Marcus lied, casually wiping his hands on his jeans. "Just... waiting."

For what? For Jasmine to notice him? For the universe to stop being absolutely trash?

Marcus's signature orange beanie sat pulled low over his forehead—his armor, his identity, his entire personality since seventh grade when he'd dyed his hair orange and decided chaos was his brand now. Two years later, the hair was back to brown, but the hat remained. It was basically part of his head at this point.

His phone buzzed.

Jasmine: party at Kyle's tonight. u coming?

Marcus's heart did that embarrassing fluttery thing. He'd been crushing on Jasmine since freshman year, and they'd talked approximately five times total. Each interaction lived in his head rent-free, replayed during insomnia marathons.

"DUDE," Tyler whispered, reading over his shoulder. "This is it. This is your moment. The stars are aligning. The astrological forecast says: finally make a move or stay single forever."

"Shut up," Marcus mumbled, typing: yeah I'll be there.

But as the sun began setting, painting the sky in streaks of coral and burnt orange, Marcus's confidence tanked. What was he supposed to say? Hey Jasmine, nice to see you, want to watch me awkwardly stand in the corner for three hours?

The party was already popping when Marcus arrived. Lights low, music way too loud, people everywhere. He spotted Jasmine immediately—laughing with her friends, palm trees framing the patio doors behind her like some Instagram aesthetic setup.

Then she saw him.

"Marcus!" She waved him over. "I love your hat."

He reached up, self-conscious. "Oh, thanks. It's... you know. The brand."

She laughed, and it was better than he'd imagined. "No, seriously. I remember when you wore that to the winter formal last year. You're the only person who could pull it off."

Wait—she remembered?

"You noticed?"

"Everyone noticed, Marcus." She stepped closer. "That's kind of the point."

His palms weren't sweating anymore. Or maybe they were, but it didn't matter.

The orange sunset faded to purple outside, but something inside him was finally lighting up.