The Sphinx of Third Period

Maya's palms were sweating through her gloves again. Not the cute, dainty kind of sweat. The full-on Niagara Falls of nervous perspiration. She adjusted her baseball cap for the fiftieth time, trying to look like she belonged on the varsity softball field, even though she'd only joined because her dad said it would look "killer on college applications."

Whatever that meant.

"You good, May?" Jordan asked, tossing a ball into his glove with a sound like thunder. Jordan, who'd been playing since kindergarten and had arms that looked like they could crush a vitamin bottle without trying.

"Yeah. Just... thinking about stuff." Maya wiped her hands on her jersey. "Big history test today."

"Oh, the ancient Egypt unit?" Jordan made a face. "I'd rather take a line drive to the face than memorize all that stuff."

The irony wasn't lost on her. Here she was, crushing on the one guy who thought history was a waste of time, while she spent every free moment researching things most people didn't care about. Like how the Great Pyramid of Giza was originally covered in polished white limestone that reflected sunlight so brightly it could be seen from the moon. Not that she'd ever say that out loud. Maya had learned the hard way that interesting facts didn't make you interesting.

"Hey," Jordan said suddenly. "You coming to Liam's party Friday?"

Her heart did this stupid fluttery thing. "Maybe? I've got... plans."

"Cool." He tossed the ball again. "Just, you know, it might be fun. No pressure."

No pressure. Right. The social pyramid at Westwood High had more levels than ancient Egypt, and Maya was currently somewhere near the bottom, hovering between "exists" and "who's that?" Jordan was near the top. Jordan, who was nice to everyone, who somehow managed to be friends with the theater kids and the athletes and the geniuses all at once. A social sphinx – mysterious, impossible to read, and impossible to ignore.

That night, Maya lay in bed staring at her ceiling, clutching a bottle of vitamin D supplements her mom had bought her. "For your mood," she'd said. Because that's how things worked now – everything could be fixed with the right pill, the right app, the right filter.

She grabbed her phone and opened Instagram, then closed it. Opened it again. Then she did something she'd never done before.

"Hey," she typed to Jordan. "About that party. What time?"

The three dots appeared immediately.

"Seven. You can sit with us if you want."

Maya stared at her palm, tracing the lifeline like she'd read about in that fortune teller book from the library. Maybe fortune tellers had it wrong all along. Maybe you didn't need to read your future – maybe you just had to show up for it.

She typed back: "I'll be there."

For the first time in forever, her palms were completely dry.