The Palm Reader's Promise

Maya's palms were sweating. Literally. She wiped them on her denim shorts for the third time as she stood in front of Jake's house, the bass from whatever playlist was thumping inside vibrating through the soles of her sneakers.

"You got this," Chloe whispered, linking her arm through Maya's. "Just be cool. He invited you, remember?"

Right. Jake Morrison had actually invited Maya Rodriguez to his end-of-school party. The same Jake who sat behind her in bio and made paper footballs that landed in her hair. The same Jake whose baseball cap was always backward, whose笑容 made her stomach do this weird fluttery thing that was equal parts terrifying and amazing.

Inside, the kitchen was chaos. Someone had spilled papaya juice — who even brought papaya to a house party? — and the slider to the backyard was jammed with people. Maya spotted Jake immediately, naturally, because her eyes were basically magnetic north to his presence. He was wearing that faded navy baseball hat, the one with the curved brim that he never took off, not even during.

"Maya!" He waved from the patio. "Come here, you gotta see this."

She pushed through the crowd, heart hammering. This was it. The moment. Maybe he'd finally notice her as more than the girl who shared her bio notes. Maybe he'd finally—

"Check it out." Jake pointed to a small glass bowl on a patio table. Inside swam a single, solitary goldfish. "My sister won it at the carnival and my mom said no pets. I call him Swimmer.

Maya stared at the fish, then at Jake's excited face. "Swimmer? Seriously?"

"What? I'm not creative." He laughed, and it was this warm, genuine sound that made her chest feel too tight. "Hey, can I tell you something?"

"Anything."

Jake leaned in close. "I was gonna ask if you wanted to hang out this summer. Like, just us. Maybe go to the beach or something?"

Maya's palms stopped sweating. "Really?"

"Yeah." He grinned. "Unless you think Swimmer here is better company."

She smiled so hard her face hurt. "I think I can make time."

Later, when they were sitting on the roof watching the sunset, Jake took off his baseball hat and put it on her head. It smelled like him — sunshine and deodorant and possibility. "Looks better on you anyway," he said.

Maya adjusted the brim, watching gold and pink light spill across the backyard, where a lone goldfish swam in endless circles, and somewhere inside, someone was probably still cleaning up papaya juice. Summer hadn't even started, and somehow, it was already everything.