The Fox in My Palm

Maya's palms were sweating. Again.

She wiped them on her jeans for the third time, staring at her phone where Liam's profile sat open. This was getting pathetic. For two weeks, she'd been basically cyber-stalking him—checking his stories the second he posted, liking his photos from three weeks ago at 2 AM (and immediately unliking them, then reliking them because what's more suspicious: a double-tap or nothing at all?). She wasn't proud of being a social media spy, but desperation makes people do weird things.

"You're being a total creep," her best friend Jaz had told her yesterday. "Just DM him already."

Easier said than done.

Today was different though. Today was the spring festival, and Maya had finally worked up the nerve to actually talk to him. Her plan: casual encounter, witty conversation, maybe get his number. Her reality: hiding behind the concession stand, heart racing like she'd just run a marathon.

Then she saw him.

Liam was by the palm reader booth, laughing with his friends. He looked good—like, actually good, not just filtered good. Maya took a breath and started walking over, her palms somehow getting sweatier.

Then it happened. Some girl—Sophia, the junior who definitely knew she was gorgeous—bumped into Maya, spolding pink slushie all over her white shirt.

"Oh my god, I am SO sorry," Sophia said, but her eyes said otherwise. There was that fox-like glint that meant exactly what everyone knew: competition.

Maya's face burned. She wanted to disappear, to evaporate, to literally teleport to another dimension. Instead, she stood there, pink sticky mess dripping down her front, while Liam and his friends turned to look.

But then Liam stepped forward. He pulled off his gray hoodie—his favorite gray hoodie, the one from his profile picture—and held it out.

"Here," he said, smiling. "Happens to the best of us."

Maya took it, their fingers brushing for half a second. Her palms had never been sweatier, but for the first time, she didn't care.

"Thanks," she managed.

"Anytime," Liam said. "Hey, you're in my English class, right? Maya?"

He knew her name.

Maya wiped her palm on her jeans again and smiled. "Yeah. That's me."

Maybe being a spy wasn't so bad after all. Sometimes you find exactly what you're looking for.