The Palm Reader's Hat
Maya's palms were sweating so much she was practically leaving fingerprints on everything. It was the third day of sophomore year and she was still trying to figure out who she was supposed to be. The goth? The preppy girl? The stoner who barely spoke?
She adjusted the beanie she'd stolen from her older brother—the one with the skateboard patch—trying to look effortless. But everything about this felt forced.
"Nice hat," said Jordan, sliding into the desk next to her. Jordan was exactly the kind of effortlessly cool person Maya was trying to be. Jordan's hair was always perfect, their clothes always looked intentional but not trying too hard.
"Thanks," Maya said, then immediately regretted how squeaky her voice sounded.
"You got plans this weekend?" Jordan asked. "My friend is having a thing. You should come."
A thing. What kind of thing? Maya's mind raced through possibilities, none of them good. But before she could respond, her phone buzzed. Her cat had knocked over the house plants again. Her mom needed help cleaning up the mess.
"I've got to handle something," Maya said, gesturing vaguely.
"No worries," Jordan said, already turning away. "Hit me up if you can make it."
That afternoon, kneeling on the kitchen floor while her cat sat on the counter looking entirely unbothered, Maya had a realization. She was so focused on impressing Jordan that she hadn't noticed the real friend who'd been sitting next to her in homeroom for two weeks. Charlie, who made terrible puns and lent her pencils without asking.
Later, at Charlie's house, his dog—a chaotic golden retriever mix—kept knocking over his chess set while they laughed about everything and nothing. Charlie read her palm as a joke, told her she'd have a long life and exactly two awkward breakups.
"You don't need the hat," Charlie said. "You're already interesting without it."
Maya took off the beanie. Her hair was messy from being tucked inside all day. She felt weirdly okay with that.
"Yeah," she said. "I think I'm finally getting that."