The Friday Night Riddle

Maya's sweaty palm pressed against the kitchen counter as she watched the party unfold from the safety of the snack table. The basement of Jessica's house had transformed into what passed for high school royalty — the varsity football players clustering by the speaker system, the perfectly curated Instagram girls taking selfies in front of fairy lights, and then there was Maya, existing in the awkward space between invisible and painfully visible.

"Hey fortune-teller," a voice called out. It was Tyler, whose nickname was Sphinx because he never gave straight answers to anything. He leaned against the doorframe with that annoying confidence that made everyone either want to be him or be with him. "Read my palm. I heard you're psychic."

Maya's mother had forced her to bring those stupid vitamin gummies because "growing teenagers need proper nutrition," but right now she needed something stronger than vitamins to handle this. She'd been doing fake palm readings at lunch since freshman year when someone had jokingly called her "the oracle," and now it was this whole thing.

"Your lifeline says you'll live forever," Maya said dryly. "Mostly because you're too stubborn to die."

Tyler laughed and actually held out his hand. "Nah, for real though. What do you see?"

Maya traced the lines on his palm, caught off guard by how soft his skin was. "I see... someone who overthinks everything. Someone who acts like they've got it figured out but actually has no clue what they're doing after graduation."

Tyler's smile faltered for a second. "Wow. Okay, fair."

"Also," Maya continued, feeling bold, "you still have that goldfish from sixth grade. The one you won at the carnival."

Tyler's jaw dropped. "How did you —"

"I sit behind you in bio," Maya grinned. "You talk to it. It's weird, Tyler."

He stared at her, really looked at her, for the first time all night. "You're not like, actually psychic, right?"

"No. But I notice things."

"Huh." Tyler straightened up. "You wanna get out of here? This party's mid anyway and I still have to feed Goldie."

Maya considered it. The safe option was staying by the snack table, but suddenly the palm-reading bit felt like a mask she was tired of wearing.

"Only if you let me name the next one," she said.

"Deal."

As they headed up the basement stairs, Maya realized she'd never felt more herself, and less like someone pretending to be someone else. Sometimes the best Friday nights weren't the ones you planned for.