The Lightning Palm Reader

The boardwalk smelled like cotton candy and desperation, which was basically the vibe of our entire sophomore year anyway. Maya dared me to get my palm read at that sketchy booth between the funnel cake stand and the arcade, and I was like, sure, why not? Anything was better than thinking about how Tyler had left me on read for three days.

The "mystic" turned out to be this ancient lady with way too much eyeliner and a sphinx tattoo on her neck that kept staring at me. She took my hand and I almost flinched because her palm was ice-cold.

"You're at a crossroads," she said, and I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing. Like, no kidding. We were fifteen. Everything was a crossroads.

But then her expression shifted. "There's something here -" She traced a line on my palm. "You think you're waiting for something to happen. But you're the one who has to make it move. Like lightning."

Lightning.

The word hit me harder than it should have. Because that's exactly what I'd been feeling - this charged, awful energy sitting in my chest while I waited for someone else to strike first.

The sphinx lady's neon sign flickered outside her booth, casting weird shadows across her face. "What riddle are you trying to solve?" she asked, and her sphinx tattoo seemed to be asking it too.

I thought about Tyler. About the way I held back in class discussions. About how I was constantly editing myself into someone smaller, safer.

"I don't know," I whispered.

"Figure it out," she said. "Before you turn into stone."

I walked out to Maya laughing about how she'd wasted twenty bucks, but something had shifted. Later that night, sitting on my bed with my phone in my palm, I finally typed it out: Hey. Want to hang out this weekend?

The reply came back fast, like lightning. Sure.

Maybe sphinxes weren't just about riddles. Maybe they were about being brave enough to ask the right questions.