Chlorine Dreams & Papaya Skins

The pool water shimmered like liquid diamonds under the July sun, but Maya stood at the edge, towel wrapped tight around her waist. Her hair was frizzing in the humidity — again — and she'd already spent twenty minutes in the bathroom trying to tame it.

"You coming in or what?" called Jen, her best friend since seventh grade, doing a perfect cannonball that sent water spraying everywhere. Jen never worried about stuff like that. Jen just lived.

Maya's mom had started her on these vitamin supplements last week, swearing they'd make her "glow from within." Whatever that meant. So far the only thing glowing was the embarrassment creeping up her neck.

She spotted Tyler by the snack bar, laughing with his friends. Tyler, who'd smiled at her in math yesterday. Tyler, who she'd been obsessing over since spring break.

Just dive in, she told herself. Just be normal for once.

But then she noticed it — someone had brought a fruit platter. Sliced papaya, bright orange and impossibly exotic-looking, sitting there like it belonged on a magazine cover, not at a suburban pool party. Nobody was touching it.

"What is that?" a freshman girl asked, poking it with suspicion.

"Papaya," Maya found herself saying, surprising everyone including herself. "It's actually really good. My grandma used to make me eat it with lime."

Suddenly she was the expert on something. The girl tried it, eyes widening. "Okay, that's actually fire."

Tyler looked over. "You tried papaya?"

"Yeah," Maya said, something in her chest loosening. "Want some?"

He came over, tried it, and grinned. "Not bad. Not gonna lie, thought it would be weird."

"Weird's fine," Maya said, and actually meant it. Her hair was still frizzy. Her vitamins were still sitting on her bathroom counter. But she was standing by the snack bar, talking to Tyler, while Jen splashed in the background yelling something about chicken fights.

The papaya sat between them on a paper plate, bright orange and ordinary and perfect. Maya grabbed her friend's hand and pulled her toward the water.

"Last one in's a rotten egg!"

Her hair could wait. The glow could wait. Summer wasn't about being perfect — it was about jumping in anyway.