The Palm Reader's Party Panic

Maya's hair was frizzing in the humidity, exactly as predicted. She smoothed it down for the twelfth time, checking her reflection in the dark window of Tyler's house. Music thumped inside—some bass-heavy thing that vibrated in her chest. This was it. Junior year's first major party. And she was terrified.

"You got this," she whispered. But her palm was already sweating against her phone case.

Inside, the air smelled like cheap cologne and anxiety. Someone had set up a faux fortune-telling station in the corner—glittery scarves draped over a card table, a crystal orb from Amazon that probably cost twelve dollars. Perfect. Because nothing says authentic mysticism like fast shipping.

"Hey, you're the girl who predicted Mr. Henderson's laryngitis, right?" It was Chloe, standing way too close with red Solo cups in both hands. "Read my palm."

Before Maya could respond, she was being pushed toward the table. Great. This was exactly what she'd tried to avoid since sixth grade, when someone had dubbed her "the psychic" after she'd guessed—purely based on observation—that her classmate's dog was sick. Now she had to bear the weight of everyone's expectations again.

But as her fingers traced the lines on Chloe's hand, something shifted. Maybe it was the two cups Chloe had already drunk, or the way the party lights caught the gold fleck in Maya's eyes, but suddenly she wasn't scared anymore. She saw confidence in Chloe's future line, adventure in her fate line, and something else—something about a fox tattoo Chloe had been secretly designing.

"You're gonna get that ink," Maya said, voice steady. "Your mom's gonna freak, but your sister will cover for you. And it's gonna look sick."

Chloe's jaw dropped. "How did you—"

"I just see things." Maya grinned, and for the first time all night, it reached her eyes. "Also, your sister follows me on Instagram and liked your draft post."

The crowd around them erupted. Someone shouted, "NEXT!" and suddenly Maya was the center of attention, but not because she was weird. Because she was good. Because she was interesting. Because she could see things other people missed.

Her hair was still frizzy. Her palms were still sweaty. But as the line formed and Chloe gestured for her friend to take a seat, Maya realized she didn't need to be anyone else. The fortune-telling bit was cheesy, yeah, but the attention—the real kind, the kind where people actually saw HER—that felt pretty damn close to magic.