The Pool Party Oracle

Maya's palms were sweating — literally sweating — as she stared at herself in the bathroom mirror. The invitation to Chelsea's pool party had been sitting on her dresser for three days, and tonight was finally the night.

"You got this, girl," she whispered to her reflection. But did she, really?

Her older brother's cat, Luna, wound around her ankles, meowing for attention. If only Maya had the confidence of a ten-pound furball who commanded treats on demand.

The party was already popping when she arrived. The pool glowed with underwater lights, casting rippling blue patterns across everything. Chelsea's massive backyard looked like something from a music video. People were cannonballing, laughing, flirting. Maya felt like she'd walked into the middle of a movie she hadn't auditioned for.

Then she saw him — Jason, leaning against the outdoor bar, looking effortlessly good. Her stomach did that awful flip thing.

"Hey, Maya!" A group of girls waved her over. "Chelsea's mom hired this fortune teller lady for the party. She's set up by the cabana. You have to get your palm read."

A palm reader. At a pool party. Only Chelsea would think this was a vibe.

The fortune teller's tent was draped with purple fabric, strings of fairy lights everywhere. Inside sat an older woman with too much jewelry and eyes that saw way too much.

"Your hands tell stories," she said, taking Maya's hand. "But you already know that."

Maya froze. How could she know?

"You're at a crossroads, little sphinx," the woman continued, using the ancient word like she knew exactly what it meant — keeper of secrets, asker of riddles, guardian of truths not yet spoken. "You can stay in your cocoon, or you can jump into the pool. Either way, you'll get wet. The question is whether you want to choose how."

The woman released her hand. "Next."

Maya stumbled out of the tent, heart racing. That was weirdly specific.

"Maya!" Jason was suddenly in front of her, dripping pool water. "Want to play chicken? Chelsea and Tyler need partners."

The old Maya would've made an excuse. The old Maya would've hovered at the snack table pretending to be fascinated by the chip selection.

But the fortune teller's words echoed in her head. Either way, you'll get wet.

"Sure," Maya heard herself say. "Let me just — " She dropped her phone on a chair and kicked off her sandals.

"You're on," she told Jason, and for the first time all night, her palms were dry.

Luna would definitely approve.