Zombie Nights and Golden Paws

Standing in the corner of Jessica's crowded basement, nursing a flat Coke, I felt like a total zombie after finals week. My brain was mush, my social battery practically nonexistent, and I was seriously calculating the optimal time to dip without looking like a loser.

Then Max found me.

Jessica's dog, this fluffy golden retriever who was an absolute unit, nudged my hand with his wet nose like he knew I needed saving. I knelt down, letting him lick my face, genuinely happier petting this good boy than trying to make awkward small talk with people who'd barely acknowledge me at school on Monday.

"You're like, really good with him."

I looked up. Caleb. Junior. Varsity jacket. The kind of guy who existed in a completely different social stratosphere. He was actually looking at me, not through me.

"He's a good boy," I said, scratching behind Max's ears. "Best conversation I've had all night."

Caleb laughed. Actual laugh. "Same. These parties can be kinda mid sometimes."

"Then why come?"

"My little sister's obsessed with Jessica. Had to play chauffeur." He nodded toward the stairs. "She's doing palm readings up there. It's her whole witchy phase. Lowkey entertaining though."

"Wait, actually?"

"Yeah, why not? Could be funny."

Something about the way he said it—like he was actually asking, not just being polite—made me say yes before my anxiety could talk me out of it.

The line wrapped around the hallway. Apparently everyone wanted their future told by a fourteen-year-old with too many crystal necklaces and an Ed Sheeran playlist. When it was finally my turn, I sat across from this girl who looked like she'd stepped out of a Tumblr aesthetic post.

She took my hand, tracing the lines on my palm with serious concentration, like she was reading ancient scripture instead of my sweaty hand.

"You're gonna have a great love life," she announced. "But you've got this really strong life line, which means you're gonna live through some major changes soon. Like, transformation-level stuff."

"Transformation?" I raised an eyebrow. "Like what?"

She shrugged. "That's for you to figure out. But Max likes you, so you're probably good people. He's got excellent judgment."

I walked out with my palm still tingling, feeling weirdly lighter.

Caleb was waiting by the door, checking his phone. When he saw me, he pocketed it without hesitating.

"So? What's your future?"

"Apparently I'm destined for greatness," I said, surprised to hear myself sound almost confident. "And Max thinks I'm good people, so."

"That's honestly a solid endorsement." He held the door open for me. "Hey, you want to get out of here? There's this food truck downtown, open late."

The zombie feeling from earlier? Gone. Just like that.

Maybe fourteen-year-old palm readers knew something after all. Maybe transformations didn't always announce themselves first.