Zombie Summer at Palm Cove

Three days into summer camp and I'm already operating on zombie mode—staying up until 3 AM scrolling through Instagram will do that to you. My brain feels like it's swimming through molasses, and I'm pretty sure I haven't had a complete thought since Tuesday.

Then I see Maya across the pool, her laugh cutting through the humidity like something sharp and bright. She's wearing this vintage swimsuit that makes me think of old photographs, and suddenly my zombie state feels very intentional.

"Hey! You doing palm readings tonight?" calls Jake, the counselor with way too much enthusiasm for 9 AM.

I nod automatically. Found out yesterday that my grandma taught herself palm reading from a library book, and somehow I've become the camp "mystic." Whatever gets you through the summer, right?

Maya's walking toward me, and my heart does that flippy thing it does when she's near. She drops onto the lounge chair next to mine like she belongs there.

"So can you actually read palms or is it all BS?" she asks, tilting her head.

"Depends," I say, sounding way cooler than I feel. "Some people believe in it. Some don't."

She extends her hand, and I try not to notice how her fingernails are painted this perfect shade of blue. I trace the lines on her palm, pretending I know what I'm doing.

"Life line's long. Heart line's... complicated."

"Complicated how?"

"There's this break here. Means you've had your heart broken. Or you will."

Maya pulls her hand back, laughing. "Okay, first of all, I'm sixteen. Second, you're totally making that up."

"Maybe," I say. "But you're the one who asked."

She studies me for a second, like she's actually seeing me. "You know, you're not as quiet as everyone thinks."

I shrug. "Just not a zombie before noon like some people."

That night, there's a bonfire. Maya finds me by the lake, where I'm skipping stones. We end up talking until the counselors chase us back to our cabins. She tells me about her parents' divorce and how she stopped believing in anything permanent. I tell her about palm reading and how sometimes you just want to believe there's a pattern to everything.

The next afternoon, Jake announces the "zombie apocalypse survival game" for camp activity. I end up on Maya's team, and we spend three hours "hunting" the other team through the woods. When she grabs my hand to pull me behind a tree, I forget to breathe.

"Your palm," she whispers, way too close. "I looked it up online. You're the one with the complicated heart line."

My face burns. "You looked up palm reading?"

"I was curious," she says, like it's nothing, but I can hear the smile in her voice.

Someone yells "GAME OVER" from the field. We won, somehow.

At dinner, Maya sits next to me. "So, zombie survivor," she says. "What else can you do?"

"I don't know," I say, and it's the truest thing I've said all summer. "I'm figuring it out."

She smiles, and it's like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "Same here."

Later that night, swimming in the pool with everyone else, the underwater lights making everything shimmer blue and green, I catch Maya watching me. When our eyes meet, she doesn't look away.

I'm still not sure if I believe in palm readings. But I'm starting to believe in summer magic, and I'm definitely not walking around like a zombie anymore.