The Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's hands were sweating. Like, actually dripping. She wiped her palms on her dress for the third time, but it was useless — her nerves had their own irrigation system. The basement party thumped with bass that vibrated in her chest, everyone moving with that effortless confidence she'd been faking since seventh grade.

"You look like you're about to bear witness to a crime," said Jake, materializing beside her with two Solo cups. He was cute in that way that made her forget how to speak normally. "Want some liquid courage?"

She took the cup, grateful for the prop. "Just psyching myself up for the palm reading thing. Jordan swore she predicted his breakup last month."

"That's because Jordan's girlfriend was literally texting other guys in front of her face." Jake grinned. "But sure, let's blame it on mysticism."

The palm reading station was just a folding table with a crystal lamp and way too much fabric. The reader was a senior named Raven who'd changed her name from Rachel last week and now dressed exclusively in black.

"Your hands tell stories," Raven said, taking Maya's hand. Her fingernails were painted chipped black. "You carry a lot here." She traced a line on Maya's palm. "This is your head line. It shows you overthink everything. You're tired of being the person who always has it together."

Maya's throat tightened. Because same.

"And this..." Raven touched her heart line. "You're afraid to let people see the real you. You think if you mess up your hair, or say the wrong thing, or laugh too loud, everyone will realize you're not perfect."

The basement spun. Jake was watching from across the room, probably wondering why she was taking so long.

"But here's the thing," Raven continued, "you don't have to bear that weight anymore. The people who matter don't need the performance."

Maya walked back to Jake with shaky legs.

"So?" he asked. "Did she predict your future?"

"She told me I need to stop trying so hard."

Jake studied her face, really looked at her, for the first time all night. "Yeah? I was gonna say that's my favorite thing about you — you never try at all."

The compliment hit different. Maybe Raven was onto something. Maybe she didn't have to perform. Maybe she could just... be.

"Thanks," Maya said, and for once, she meant it. Her palms were still sweaty, her hair was definitely a mess, and she was probably blushing, but somehow, none of that mattered anymore.