The Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating—gross, noticeable sweating—while she stood in the corner of Jordan's basement party, nursing a warm soda and pretending to be deeply fascinated by the family's WiFi router collection.

"Hey!" Chloe appeared beside her, grabbing Maya's arm with way too much enthusiasm. "Jessica's reading palms in the bathroom. It's totally bogus but also low-key fun? You should go."

Maya shook her head fast. "Hard pass. I'm good here. With the routers."

"Maya." Chloe gave her that look. "You've been **running** away from everyone all night. What is actually going on with you?"

Nothing was going on. Everything was going on. Maya had liked Jordan since seventh grade, and now they were a junior and he was throwing parties and being all confident and gorgeous, and she was still the girl who hid near electronic equipment during social gatherings.

Before she could answer, Jessica burst out of the bathroom. "Next victim! I mean, next customer!" She spotted Maya. "Perfect. Come here, I need more practice."

Maya got shoved into the bathroom before she could properly protest. The counter was littered with glitter and mysterious stains. Jessica washed her hands, then grabbed Maya's left hand.

"Okay, let's see." Jessica traced the lines on Maya's **palm** like she was solving a puzzle. "You're going to meet someone tonight. Like, really meet them. The kind of meeting that changes everything."

Maya laughed despite herself. "That's so vague. You could say that to anyone."

"True, but"—Jessica dropped her voice—"I see something specific. You're going to stop waiting on the sidelines. You're going to take what you want."

Maya left the bathroom feeling weirdly hopeful, even though she knew palm reading was nonsense. But then she saw Jordan, alone by the snack table, looking just as awkward as she felt.

And something hit her like **lightning**—the sudden, shocking realization that she'd been projecting confidence onto him when really, he was just some guy who threw parties to feel less alone.

She walked over. Not ran. Walked.

"Hey," she said. "Cool party. The router collection is amazing."

Jordan looked up, and for the first time since seventh grade, she saw something real in his expression. Relief, maybe. Or recognition.

"Yeah?" He smiled, actually smiled. "I keep telling my parents those belong in a museum. Want the full tour?"

Maya's palms weren't sweating anymore.

"Absolutely," she said.