Three Second Summer

The carnival lights blurred together, neon bleeding into neon, and Maya's palms were sweating so much she could practically water plants with them. Which was ironic, considering she was currently holding someone's hand.

"You good?" Jordan asked, squeezing her fingers.

"Yeah, just... carnival atmosphere, you know?" Maya lied smoothly, though her heart was doing gymnastics that would've scored a 10.

They'd been flirting since chemistry started in September, and somehow Maya had scored a date to the Spring Fling. But somewhere between the corsage and the carnival, her brain had gone full internet explorer — no tabs open, yet somehow everything was loading at once.

Her little brother Kai was three booths down, literally vibrating with energy. "Maya! Win me a goldfish!" he shouted, because twelve-year-olds had zero chill.

"Later, Kai!" she called back, but Jordan was already steering toward the fish booth.

"We should win him one," Jordan said, and Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to organ.

"You don't have to—"

"I want to." Jordan's brown eyes were serious. "Besides, I've been watching this guy. He's not using his wrist. Easy win."

Ten dollars later, Jordan handed Kai a plastic bag with a orange fish doing loops like it was auditioning for the Olympics. Kai named it Nacho immediately, because twelve.

They ended up at the palm reader's tent, because apparently Maya's life had become a teen romance novel. The woman inside, whose name was apparently Madame Zoltar (deadass), traced lines across Maya's hand with long acrylic nails.

"You're an old soul," Madame Zoltar said dramatically. "But you're learning to be young."

Maya almost laughed. Try learning to be normal first.

That night, sprawled across her bed with Nacho's bowl glowing on her nightstand like a tiny orange universe, Maya's phone buzzed. Jordan: "had fun tonight. also, kai seems cool."

Maya typed and deleted seventeen variations of "me too" before settling on: "same. Nacho says hi"

"tell Nacho I said what's up. also your hands weren't that sweaty btw I was bluffing about noticing"

Maya stared at her ceiling, grinning like an idiot. Her palms weren't sweating anymore. And for the first time in forever, she wasn't overthinking every single thing, wasn't mentally rehearsing conversations that hadn't happened yet, wasn't stuck in that goldfish loop of what-ifs and anxieties.

She was just... here. In this moment. Sweaty palms and all.