The Palm Reader's Prophecy

Maya's palms were sweating — straight-up gross, sweaty palms that she wiped on her jeans like twelve times. This is what happens when you're stuck in line at the spring carnival with your ex-best friend who ghosted you three months ago for the popular crowd.

'So,' Chloe said, popping her gum with that practiced casual that made Maya want to scream. 'You still doing that palm reading thing? Because some people are saying it's actually kind of creepy.' Some people. The same some people who'd declared Chloe the new queen of sophomore year while Maya became invisible.

Maya opened her mouth to say something savage but her phone buzzed. Her ride was running late. Again.

The sign above them flickered: MADAME ZORA'S TENT — PALM READINGS, $5. Only one chair left.

'This is so bull,' Chloe scoffed, but she sat down anyway, because of course she did. 'Fine. Read my palm. Prove it's fake.'

Maya's hands hovered over Chloe's outstretched hand. She could see everything — the way Chloe's foundation was creased under her eyes from fake-smiling all day, the tiny tremor in her fingers, the nervous energy radiating off her like heat.

'Someone's running from something,' Maya said, her voice dropping without meaning to. 'You keep telling everyone everything's perfect but your hand says you're drowning.'

Chloe yanked her hand back. Her face flushed blotchy-red. 'Whatever. I knew this was stupid.'

'Maya,' she said, not looking up. 'Can you — can you actually tell anything? For real?'

Maya hesitated. She could tell her about the friend thing — how Chloe missed her, how the popularity was exhausting, how she regretted everything. But it wasn't her place to out someone's secrets, even someone who'd thrown their friendship away.

'You're going to be okay,' Maya said finally. 'Whatever's chasing you, you'll figure it out.'

Chloe's eyes widened. 'That's — that's actually kind of specific.'

A voice from behind the curtain: 'NEXT!' Madame Zora herself, looking exactly like someone who'd seen too many teenagers' futures.

They stood up together, awkward but something shifted. Chloe's hand brushed Maya's arm — a friend thing, automatic and old.

'Thanks,' Chloe whispered, then louder: 'Not because I believe that stuff. Obviously.' But her voice broke.

Maya's phone buzzed again. Her ride.

'Running late again,' Maya said, already backing toward the exit. 'But hey — maybe don't run from everything?'

Chloe watched her go, palm still tingling where Maya's fingers had traced her lifeline, wondering if Maya had seen what she'd really been too scared to say out loud: I miss you.

The next day at school, Chloe found Maya by her locker. No gum popping. No practiced casual. Just 'Want to sit together at lunch?' and maybe, possibly, the beginning of something real again.