The Palm Reading Party

Maya's sweaty palm gripped her iPhone so hard she thought she might crack the screen. It was her first high school party, and literally everyone seemed to know exactly what they were doing. Everyone except her.

"You gonna stand in the corner all night or what?"

Maya jumped. It was Leo, the guy from her English class who always drew sphinxes in the margins of his worksheets. She'd been lowkey crushing on him since September, when he'd defended her choice to read The Great Gatsby instead of watching the movie adaptation.

"I'm... observing," she said, which was basically code for 'I'm socially awkward and panicking.'

Leo smirked. "You need a drink. Or at least to put that phone away before you break it."

They ended up on the back porch, somehow. The party noise faded to a dull thump inside. Leo pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket.

"I can read palms," he announced. "My aunt taught me. It's apparently a whole thing."

Maya laughed but extended her hand. "Yeah right. Go for it."

He traced the lines on her palm with surprising gentleness. "You're going to bear great burdens," he intoned dramatically. "Also, you'll meet a tall, dark stranger who's terrible at palm reading."

"That's not even a real reading!"

"I'm just getting started," Leo said, but he was smiling now. "Okay, real talk — you worry too much about what people think. But you're also loyal, and you notice things other people miss. Like how I draw sphinxes because they're all about riddles and nobody actually knows what they're thinking."

Maya felt something shift in her chest, warm and surprising. "That's oddly specific for a fake palm reading."

"I'm insightful," he shrugged. "So, you wanna go back inside and actually talk to people?"

"Maybe," she said, and realized she meant it. "But first, tell me about the sphinx thing."

"Long story." Leo grinned. "But I've got time if you do."

For the first time all night, Maya's palm wasn't sweating at all.