Zombie Pool Party Oracle

My palms were sweating — literally, which was ironic considering I was supposed to be the mystical palm reader at Maya's graduation pool party. The kind of energy everyone assumed I had was actually just a **vitamin** D deficiency from spending all spring indoors scrolling through AP History flashcards instead of, you know, having a life.

You know that feeling when you're somehow simultaneously invisible and hyper-visible? That was me. Pool parties were basically my nemesis — all those shirtless guys looking like they stepped out of a TikTok thirst trap, while I was over here in my oversized rash guard wondering if SPF 50 was enough protection from both UV rays and social judgment.

I'd been **running** cross-country since freshman year mostly because it was easier than explaining why I didn't want to go to parties. But here I was, at the party, because Maya had literally begged me to bring my "vibe" and read palms for entertainment.

"You're gonna tell me I meet someone tall, dark, and mysterious, right?" Chelsea asked, extending her hand. She was the kind of pretty that made you want to simultaneously be her best friend and also disappear into the pool drain.

I traced her life line, channeling my inner mystic even though I was basically a **zombie** from finals week. "Actually, your line says you're gonna propose to someone unexpectedly. Like, really unexpectedly. Maybe at a Denny's at 3 AM."

She gasped. "That's SO specific."

The crowd around the pool leaned in. Someone cannonballed into the water, sending a wave sloshing over the concrete. I caught Marcus's eye across the **pool** — track team captain, actual human sunshine, and the reason I'd even agreed to come today. He was smiling at me.

My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to stomach.

"What about you?" Marcus asked, dripping pool water and confidence as he stepped closer. "Read your own palm lately?"

I held up my hand. Water still lingered on my skin from where I'd jumped in earlier, fully clothed, because Maya dared me and apparently I had zero self-preservation instincts. "My life line says I stop overthinking everything and actually say hi to the guy I've been lowkey obsessed with since regionals."

His grin widened. "Damn. That reading's accurate as hell."

And just like that, I wasn't the weird palm reader girl anymore. I was just some girl, by a pool, finally figuring out that the scariest part of growing up wasn't reading other people's futures — it was brave enough to start writing your own.