The Vitamin Caramel Incident

Jordan's golden retriever, Buster, chose the exact moment of his first kiss attempt to unleash absolute chaos. One second, Maya's lips were approaching his in what Jordan had mentally rehearsed approximately eight thousand times. The next, a furry cannonball plowed through the backyard picnic, sending spinach dip flying everywhere.

"Buster, NO!" Jordan's face burned hotter than the sun above. Maya sat there, green specks dotting her shirt like some kind of abstract art catastrophe. She looked at Jordan, then at the dog triumphantly chewing a stolen veggie burger wrapper, and started laughing. Not polite laughter. The full-on, doubled-over,-can't-breathe kind.

"Your dog just crashed our moment," she gasped between giggles. "This is iconic."

Jordan's humiliation melted into something unexpected: relief. Because honestly? He'd been psyching himself out all week, overanalyzing everything in that signature way fifteen-year-olds do where every tiny decision feels like it determines your entire future.

The social pyramid at Miller High had been suffocating lately—everyone climbing over everyone else to reach some imaginary peak. Jordan had spent months trying to figure out where he fit. But here, with spinach in his hair and Buster looking supremely proud of himself, none of that mattered.

Maya wiped dip from her cheek. "My mom says I need more iron. Maybe I should just rub spinach all over myself at this point."

"My mom's always trying to get me to take those gross gummy vitamins," Jordan replied without thinking. Then winced. Smooth. Real smooth.

But Maya's expression shifted. She reached over, palm upward, fingers slightly curled. "Hit me."

"What?"

"Your hand. I'll read your palm. I looked up tutorials on YouTube because I have zero chill whatsoever."

Jordan hesitated, then placed his hand in hers. Her fingers were warm. "Life line's pretty long," she said softly. "And your heart line—" She stopped, cheeks flushing the exact shade of pink that had been dominating Jordan's dreams since August.

She looked up, and for the first time all afternoon, Buster was quiet. The universe, it seemed, was giving them this moment.

"Your heart line curves toward your fingers," Maya whispered. "That means you fall hard."

The afternoon sun caught her hair. Somewhere, a distant neighbor's lawnmower hummed. Jordan's palm tingled where she still held it.

"Yeah," he said. "I really do."