Sweaty Palms (fictional)

I sweat when I'm nervous, or around any male that's not my father. Sheltered from that world for over a century and instantly petrified, my body reacts before my brain can tell it to stop. I pinch my face while concentrating on calming myself down. Now I look royally pissed. I think he just said something. It must have been comical because the ends of his mouth had curved up ready to join in when I started to laugh. Too late; they drooped and I'd lost my moment. This boy had blondish hair, newly cut so the ends looked extra stiff and combed over. He shifted his weight his left foot and seemed ready to retreat.