Sweaty Palms, Wild Hair

Maya's palms were practically leaking as she stood outside Tyler's house, bass thumping through the walls like a second heartbeat. She'd spent forty-five minutes on her hair—curling it, then straightening it, then curling it again because apparently she couldn't make up her mind about who she was supposed to be tonight.

"You good?" asked Chen, her best friend since seventh grade, currently wearing platform heels that defied physics. "You look like you're about to pass a kidney stone."

"I'm fine," Maya lied, wiping her sweaty palms on her denim skirt. "Just... nervous."

"About Tyler? Please. That boy's been obsessed with you since homeroom." Chen flipped her hair—effortlessly perfect, obviously. "You got this."

Maya's phone buzzed. Her mom: *Don't forget your vitamins! The gummy ones are in your purse!*

Because nothing says cool teenager like carrying gummy vitamins to a high school party. Maya stuffed her phone deeper in her pocket, mortified.

Inside, the air smelled like cheap body spray and something fruity. People were pressed against walls, dancing in that awkward way where everyone's trying to look chill but secretly counting dance moves. Tyler was by the drinks, laughing with his friends, hair falling in his face that way that made Maya's stomach do gymnastics.

"Go talk to him," Chen whispered, giving her a shove.

Maya stumbled forward, heart racing. She could do this. She'd practiced conversations in the mirror. She'd memorized his Instagram posts. She was PREPARED.

Tyler turned. His eyes lit up. "Maya! Hey!"

"Hey," she squeaked. Then, because the universe hated her: "Your palm is really... nice?"

What.

Tyler blinked, then held up his hand, laughing. "Thanks? I guess?"

Maya wanted to evaporate. Instead, she heard herself say, "I read this thing about palm reading in 7th grade and I still remember some lines, want me to—"

"YES," said Tyler, before she could embarrass herself further. "That's actually kind of cool."

So there they were, Maya reading Tyler's palm under LED party lights, while Chen watched from across the room, visibly losing it. And weirdly, Tyler was actually listening? Like, really listening, not in that polite way boys did when girls talked about stuff they didn't care about.

"You're gonna do something creative," Maya said, surprised at her own confidence. "Your life line is super long. And this"—she traced a line on his palm—"means you're gonna travel somewhere crazy."

"Yeah?" His voice was soft. "Maybe you'll come with."

Later, when Maya's hair was falling out of its curls and her phone had blown up with twenty texts from her mom about vitamin deficiencies, she realized something important.

She didn't have to be anyone but herself. Sweaty palms, wild hair, weird palm-reading obsession and all.

Tyler thought she was interesting. Her mom thought she was healthy. And Chen? Chen just thought she was an idiot, but in the best way possible.