Decoding Friday Night

Maya's phone buzzed on her nightstand at 7:43 PM. **The sphinx speaks:** *what riddles does your heart hold tonight?*

She'd been texting Leo for three weeks—since he'd moved here from Seattle and ended up in her AP Bio class. His messages were always like this. Mysterious. Intense. Maya, who'd spent her entire high school career being basically invisible, had no idea how to respond. Was this flirting? Was he just weird?

"You're overthinking it again," said her best friend Jordan, sprawled across Maya's bed while simultaneously live-tweeting a reality show. "Just be chill. Be the chill person you definitely are."

"I am not chill," Maya groaled, flopping backward. "I am the opposite of chill. I am a nervous wreck who's about to see Leo at Peter's party and what if I say something weird? What if I—"

"What if you eat papaya and discover it's actually amazing?"

Maya blinked. "What?"

Jordan held up a chunk of orange fruit. "Peter's mom got all fancy with the snack spread. Try it. Expand your horizons before you expand your anxiety."

Maya took a bite. Sweet, musky, totally unfamiliar. "It's... weirdly good?"

"See? Growth. Now go get ready. And for the love of everything, do not wear that cardigan you think is your emotional support item."

Twenty minutes later, Maya walked into Peter's basement, where a bunch of juniors were dancing to something with too much bass. And there was Leo, leaning against the wall in that flannel he always wore, looking like he'd rather be literally anywhere else.

Their eyes met. Maya's heart did that embarrassing flutter-thing it did whenever she saw him.

"Hey," he said, pushing off the wall. "You came."

"Yeah. I—" Something warm and sticky hit her shoulder. She looked down to see bright orange pulp splattered across her favorite black top. Across the room, Peter's little brother—wearing a fuzzy **bear** costume from Halloween—was gleefully flinging fruit from the snack table.

"Oh my GOD," Maya whispered, mortified.

Leo stared at her shirt. Then he started laughing. Not mean laughter. The genuine kind, where his eyes crinkled and he had to lean against the wall. "Is that... papaya?"

"The bear has very good aim," she managed, and then she was laughing too, because what else could she do?

Leo reached out, hesitant. "Here, let me—" He grabbed some napkins and started dabbing at her shirt, standing closer than he ever had before. His hands were warm. Maya forgot how to breathe.

"You know," he said softly, still wiping at the sticky fruit, "I sent that sphinx message because I couldn't figure out how to just ask if you wanted to hang out. Alone. Somewhere that isn't Peter's basement."

Maya's stomach did something complicated and wonderful. "Oh."

"So?" Leo looked up, meeting her eyes. "What does your heart say?"

She thought about cardigans and papaya and mysterious texts and boys who made her laugh when she was covered in fruit pulp.

"It says," Maya grinned, "that I'm absolutely terrible at riddles, but I'd love to hang out. Alone."

Leo smiled. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. But maybe somewhere with fewer bears."

"Deal."