The Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's palms were sweating legit rivers as she clutched the crumpled flyer. School carnival. Seventh period. Behind her, Jordan was already bouncing on his heels, oblivious to everything except the sno-cone stand.

"Dude, are you good?" Jordan asked, flashing that smile that made half the junior class swoon.

"Yeah. Just... nervous about the palm reading thing. Feeds kinda cheesy, right?"

"Maya, chill. It's all for a good cause. Robotics club needs funds, and you know I got your back. Best friend duties, remember?" He punched her shoulder, gentle.

Jordan. Her person since third grade, when he'd shared his dinosaurs with her during recess. But lately, something felt off. Like he was performing friendship instead of living it.

The fortune teller's booth smelled like incense and desperate hopes. An eleventh grader with way too much eyeliner waved them in.

"Step right up. Five bucks, and I'll change your life."

Maya sat first. The reader took her hand, traced the lines with dramatic slowness.

"You're carrying something heavy. Betrayal. Someone close..." She lowered her voice. "A friend wears many hats. Make sure you know which one they're wearing for you."

Jordan shrugged when it was his turn, sat down like it was nothing. The reader's eyes widened.

"Oh, this is interesting. You're playing a part. Spying, almost. But for what? Protection? Or something else?"

They walked out in silence. Jordan's knuckles were white around his sno-cone.

"That was weird," he said, but he wouldn't meet her eyes.

"Jordan. What's going on?"

He stopped. The carnival lights flickered behind him—gold and blue against the dusk. He adjusted his beanie hat, a nervous habit she'd never noticed before.

"Liam's crew says they're gonna jump you after school tomorrow. Behind the gym. I've been... I don't know, gathering info? Trying to figure out their plan so I can help you avoid it. I didn't want to freak you out."

Maya's breath caught. "You're the one who told them to back off last week, aren't you?"

"Yeah. And they're pissed." He finally looked at her. "I'm not spying on you, Maya. I'm protecting you. There's a difference."

The palm reader's words echoed: *A friend wears many hats.* Jordan was wearing the protector hat, the investigator hat, the ride-or-die hat.

She grabbed his hand, her palm still damp but steady now. "Next time? Just tell me. We figure stuff out together. That's how friendship works."

He nodded, relief washing over his face. "Deal. But you're paying for sno-cones next time."