The Palm Reader's Secret

Maya's **hat** was supposed to be her invisibility cloak—a vintage fedora she'd thrifted for exactly this purpose. But at Tyler's back-to-school party, it was doing the opposite. Every time she tilted it down, someone asked what was up with the detective vibe.

She wasn't trying to channel noir films. She was hiding.

"Your **palm**," said Jax, sliding onto the outdoor sofa next to her. "I heard you can tell fortunes."

Maya's heart raced. She'd practiced palm reading on YouTube for months, but only in her room with the door locked. Somehow her pseudo-ex-best friend Brianna had found out and broadcast it to the whole grade as "Maya's weird obsession."

"I don't—" she started.

"Come on, everyone's talking about it." Jax grinned. "Hit me with the truth."

The party thumped around them. Kids clustered around the pool, someone was live-streaming from the balcony, Brianna was across the yard glowering like a betrayed **spy**. Social media was her weapon—always watching, always ready to screenshot anything that could become tomorrow's drama.

Maya hesitated. She could play it cool, make something vague up, laugh it off. That's what her old self would do.

Instead, she took Jax's hand.

"Your lifeline's strong," she said, surprised at how steady her voice was. "You've got this branching path here—" she traced a line near his thumb "—where something big happens junior year. Like, life path big."

Jax went quiet. The playful energy shifted.

"My dad wants me to go to military school," he said finally. "But I want to do... something else."

Brianna was watching now, phone raised. Recording. Whatever.

"This other line," Maya continued, "it's about creativity. Like, you're supposed to build something. Not follow orders."

Jax stared at his palm like it held the secrets of the universe.

"Maybe," he said. "Maybe."

More kids drifted over. Suddenly Maya wasn't the palm-reading weirdo. She was the person who could see you. The one who noticed the things nobody else said out loud.

Her hat slipped back. She didn't fix it.