What the Palm Reader Said

I sat on the edge of the pool, legs dangling in the cool water, watching Jake from across the patio. His navy baseball hat was turned backwards, the way he always wore it, and he was laughing at something Stacy said. My stomach did that stupid flip thing it did whenever he was near.

"You gonna stare all night?" Maya appeared beside me, dropping into a crouch. "Or are you actually gonna talk to him?"

I rolled my eyes. "Like it's that easy. He's basically the king of junior year. I'm just... me."

Maya grabbed my hand, flipping it over and tracing the lines on my **palm** with one finger. "You know, my abuela taught me palm reading. She said your life line is supposed to show how long you'll live, but I think it's more about how boldly you're living."

She pointed to a deep crease running across my hand. "Yours is strong. Which means you're meant for big things. But you gotta actually go after them."

Jake started walking toward us, and my heart hammered against my ribs. He stopped near our lounge chairs, pulling his phone from his pocket.

"Hey, either of you have a charger? My phone's about to die and I promised my mom I'd call."

I fumbled in my bag, finally producing a tangled **cable**. "Here. It's kinda old but it works."

"You're a lifesaver." He plugged it in, then hesitated. "Hey, I'm supposed to be at the beach tomorrow with some friends. You should come. Bring Maya too."

The **water** lapped against my legs, but everything else faded. Was this happening?

"Yeah," I heard myself say. "We'll be there."

As Jake walked away, Maya grinned. "See? The palm reader was right."

I looked at my hand, then at Jake's retreating back. Sometimes the biggest moments start with the smallest things—a tangled cable, a chance invitation, and a friend who knows how to read between the lines.