The Palm Reader's Luck

Maya adjusted the vintage fedora she'd thrifted last summer—her thinking **hat**, her confidence armor, her everything. The basement party thumped with bass too heavy for a Tuesday, but here they all were, pretending midterms weren't literally tomorrow.

"You're doing that thing again," Jordan said, appearing at her elbow with a red Solo cup. "Where you disappear into your head."

"Not disappearing," Maya lied. Her palms were definitely sweating though. Across the room, Riley was laughing at something, that laugh that did weird things to her stomach. They'd been lab partners all semester, and she still hadn't figured out how to casually say 'hey, I think you're neat' without it sounding like a line from a 2000s rom-com.

"So go over there," Jordan said, like it was simple.

"And say what? 'Hi, I've been lowkey obsessing over your hair for three months'?"

Jordan stared at her. "You're hopeless."

Maya's secret hobby—palm reading, which she'd learned from a YouTube spiral at 3 AM one night—had always been her social crutch. People loved having their futures told, even when she was literally making it up. But Riley? Riley was sharp, observant, the kind of person who'd call her out instantly.

But then Riley was walking over, and panic short-circuited her brain.

"Nice hat," Riley said, and something about their tone was genuine.

"Thanks, it's my emotional support hat," Maya blurted, then wanted to die immediately.

But Riley just grinned. "Same. I have emotional support hoodies."

And somehow they were talking, really talking, and Maya's palms stopped sweating enough that she could breathe again. She didn't do the palm reading thing. She didn't need a gimmick.

"You know," Riley said later, leaning against the basement wall beside her, "you're surprisingly chill once you get out of your head."

"Takes a while to warm up," Maya admitted.

"Sly as a **fox**, I see." Riley's smile was different now—softer, maybe. "Cool though."

They exchanged numbers before Maya left, the vintage hat still perfectly positioned, her palms finally dry, the whole night feeling like the start of something real.