The Palm Reader's Prophecy

Riley smoothed down her bright orange tank top for the third time, the color practically screaming against her usual palette of safe neutrals. Tonight was different. Tonight, she was someone who wore orange.

"You're going to that carnival thing?" Maya had asked earlier that day, skepticism dripping from her voice. "The one with the so-called psychic?"

"Maybe," Riley had said, trying to sound casual. But she'd already looked up the reviews online (sneaking past her parents' parental control cable like a digital ninja). The palm reader—Madame Zara—had four stars and exactly one review that said "she knew things she couldn't possibly know."

Now, standing at the edge of the school parking lot where the carnival had taken over, Riley's heart did gymnastics. Her cat, Luna, had escaped that morning. Still missing. Probably a sign. The universe had a way of communicating in symbols, or at least that's what the forums said.

A group of seniors passed by, laughing about something that wasn't funny. Riley pressed her palms against her thighs, suddenly self-conscious. What was she even doing here? What if Madame Zara took one look at her hands and said something devastating? Like "you'll always be average" or "that boy in your English class will never notice you."

"Hey." A voice snapped her out of it. Julian. The boy from English class. His skateboard was tucked under one arm, and he was wearing—Riley's breath hitched—an orange beanie. The universe wasn't subtle.

"You here for the psychic too?" he asked, like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Maybe," Riley said again, but this time she smiled. "You?"

"My mom made me come," he lied badly. "Wanna see what the hype's about?"

They fell into step together, and the night air felt different—charged, like the moment before a storm. The carnival lights blurred together, creating a canopy of electric stars.

Madame Zara's booth smelled like incense and secrets. Her eyes were ancient, knowing.

"One at a time," she said, gesturing for them to sit.

But then Julian did something unexpected. He held out his hand, palm up, and nodded at Riley. "Together."

Riley's throat went dry. She extended her hand, and when their palms brushed, something shifted—like a cable had been connected, completing a circuit. The psychic's eyes widened.

"Interesting," she murmured, tracing a line on Riley's palm. "You're both searching for something you already found."

Outside, a cat meowed. Luna, weaving through someone's legs like she'd never been lost at all.

Julian looked at Riley, really looked at her, and smiled. "Guess the universe isn't subtle."

Riley thought about orange being the color of courage, about cables connecting what should've stayed separate, about palm readings that told you what you already knew but needed to hear anyway.

"No," she said, smiling back. "It's really not."