The Party Prophecy

Maya's palms were sweating so hard she could practically wring them out like a sponge. Taylor's party. The social event of the sophomore year. And she was standing alone by the snack table like a total loser, clutching her red solo cup like it was a lifeline.

"Hey there, mystic Maya." Fox appeared out of nowhere, grinning that fox-like grin that made half the school fall over themselves trying to impress him. He was wearing that stupid denim jacket he never took off, even though it was literally eighty degrees inside. "You look like you're contemplating the meaning of life. Or just wondering if the Doritos are spiked."

"Fox, you're literally the worst," she said, but her shoulders relaxed an inch. "And I'm not contemplating anything. I'm socially dissociating. It's a survival technique."

"Fair." He grabbed her wrist, turning her palm upward like some questionable fortune teller at a carnival. "Let me see what fate has in store for Maya Rodriguez, social butterfly in training."

He traced the lines with theatrical seriousness. "Hmm, interesting. Very interesting. This lifeline says you'll survive tonight, but this heart line... ooh, tragic. You're going to embarrass yourself in exactly three minutes."

"You're full of it."

"I'm literally psychic, Maya. Accept your destiny."

A girl materialized at the edge of their circle, leaning against the doorframe like she owned the entire house. Something about her was unsettlingly calm, watching everyone with these eyes that seemed to know way too much. Like she was some kind of sphinx, perched on her metaphorical pedestal, waiting for someone to fail her riddle.

"That's Sasha," Fox whispered, suddenly not joking. "She transferred from Lincoln High. Apparently she got kicked out for starting an underground ring that sold answers to finals."

Maya's stomach did something stupid and fluttery. "That's obviously a rumor."

"Is it? Look at her."

Sasha caught them staring. Instead of looking away like a normal human being, she raised an eyebrow, challenging them, and pointed directly at Maya's cup.

"She knows," Fox hissed. "About the—"

"There's nothing to know about!"

"Maya." His voice dropped. "You've been holding that empty cup for twenty minutes. Everyone thinks you're hammered."

Her face burned. "You let me stand here looking like an idiot for twenty minutes?!"

"I thought it was a bit! You were really committing to the dissociation aesthetic!"

Sasha pushed off the doorframe and walked over, moving through the crowd like parting the Red Sea. She stopped in front of Maya, extended her hand, and said, "You're standing in front of the actual trash can, and you've been pretending to drink from that empty cup for so long that people are genuinely concerned."

Maya died. She literally died. "I—"

"It's cool." Sasha's serious expression cracked, revealing something almost like a smile. "I think the dissociation aesthetic is underrated. Very mysterious. Very emo." She gestured toward the kitchen. "There's actual punch, though. Unless you prefer the performance art angle."

Fox was losing it behind them.

"I'm Maya," she managed, palms somehow sweating even more.

"Sasha." The sphinx-like girl winked. "And you're officially the most interesting person here. Most people just pretend to be drunk. You pretend to be sober while pretending to be drunk. That's commitment."

"That was an accident!"

"Sure it was." Sasha started toward the kitchen, then looked back. "You coming? Or are you going to let Fox give you another tragically accurate palm reading?"

Maya glanced at Fox, who was now examining his own palm with exaggerated confusion.

"Yeah," Maya said, following the girl who'd somehow turned her social disaster into a conversation starter. "Yeah, I'm coming."

"Good." Sasha grinned. "Because I've been standing over there trying to figure out how to talk to the cute girl doing performance art with a solo cup, and you just made it way easier."