The Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's palms were sweating so bad she could practically water plants with them. Which was ironic, considering she was currently supposed to be helping her dad at his vitamin shop on the busiest Saturday of the year, but instead she'd ditched to meet up with her friends at the spring fling carnival.

"You're literally vibrating," said Jules, nudging her as they waited in line for the palm reader booth. "This is just Cross-Country Regionals, not the Olympics. Chill."

"Easy for you to say," Maya muttered, wiping her hands on her jeans. "You're not the one whose entire future depends on not embarrassing yourself in front of literally everyone."

The palm reader booth was decorated with fake stars and those weird beaded curtains that always stuck to your arms. An elderly woman with way too much blue eyeshadow waved them in.

"Ah," the woman said, grabbing Maya's hand before she could chicken out. "You're a runner."

Maya exchanged looks with Jules. "Could you tell that from my hands?"

"No, honey, you're wearing a varsity jacket that says 'CROSS COUNTRY' on it. I'm not actually psychic." The woman squinted at Maya's palm. "But your lifeline is all over the place. You're running from something."

"Um, that's literally what I do," Maya said. "Run. That's the sport."

"No, no." The woman tapped Maya's palm with a glittery fingernail. "You're running because you think you're not enough unless you're always moving. But here's the thing—" She pulled a bottle of neon-orange gummy vitamins from under her table. "Sometimes what you think you need isn't what you actually need."

"Are those..." Jules started.

"My daughter's a wellness influencer. She left these here. Take them."

Maya stared at the vitamins. "What does this have to do with Regionals?"

"Everything, nothing." The woman shooed them away. "Next!"

Later that night, Maya couldn't sleep. The palm reader's words kept looping in her head. Was she running toward something good, or just away from being still?

At Regionals the next morning, Maya's palms were sweating again. But this time, when she lined up at the starting line, she didn't wipe them on her shorts. She made fists.

And when the gun went off, she didn't run away from the nervousness. She ran with it.

She didn't win—she came in seventh. But crossing that finish line, she finally got what the weird palm reader meant. Sometimes you don't need to be the fastest. You just need to be moving toward the things that make you feel alive, even when they're terrifying.

Also, the gummy vitamins were actually pretty good. Not that she'd ever admit that to anyone.