Checkout Line Heartbreak

I felt like a **zombie** standing behind the register at GreenLife Market, running on three hours of sleep and parental expectations. My first real job, and I'd already managed to create the most embarrassing moment of my sixteen years.

"That'll be twelve forty-seven," I told Maya Rodriguez, trying to sound casual while my palms sweated through my uniform polo.

Maya. The same Maya who sat two rows ahead of me in AP English. The same Maya whose Instagram stories I watched at 2 AM instead of sleeping.

She placed a singular **papaya** on the counter like it was the most normal purchase in the world. Who buys one papaya? Who eats papayas at all?

"My mom's trying this new gut health thing," she said, reading my mind. "She thinks papaya enzymes are basically magic."

"Right. Totally." I scanned the fruit. Beep.

Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out this ancient, fraying charging **cable** that had clearly seen better centuries. "Can I use your outlet? My phone died third period and my mom's supposed to pick me up."

"Yeah, sure. Behind the counter." I pointed like an idiot. Meanwhile, the line of customers was growing. I could feel their judgment radiating like microwave heat.

"Thanks, Liam." She knew my name. OF COURSE she knew my name. We'd been in school together since fourth grade. Why was I hyperventilating?

Her phone charged slowly while I awkwardly made small talk about the weather and tried not to stare at how her hair fell over her shoulder. The papaya sat between us like this exotic third wheel.

"Hey, are you coming to Jordan's party on Saturday?" she asked, suddenly interested in the nutrition bar display.

My heart did this full gymnastics routine. "Maybe? Not sure yet."

"You should. Everyone's saying it's gonna be lit." She looked up, and our eyes actually met. "I mean, if you want. No pressure."

"Yeah. I'll... think about it."

She unplugged her phone, grabbed her papaya, and walked toward the exit. Then she turned back. "Your eyes look kinda tired. You should get more sleep. Or maybe take a **vitamin** D supplement? My mom says seasonal depression is real even in summer."

"Thanks. I'll do that."

"See you at school, Zombie Boy."

She was gone. The next customer stepped forward, and I scanned their items on autopilot. Zombie Boy. She'd noticed. She'd noticed AND made a joke about it. I spent the rest of my shift grinning like an idiot, papaya-texting my best friend about how I was absolutely, positively going to Jordan's party on Saturday.