Goldfish Confessions

Marcus stared at the orange blob in the grocery store aisle. Papaya. Seriously? Who even ate papaya? But Maya had posted it on her story with the caption "obsessed with this rn," so here he was, teenager logic in full effect. He tossed the alien-looking fruit into his cart like it was a grenade.

"Bro, you're actually down bad," his best friend Jaylen had said earlier when Marcus explained his plan. "You're gonna eat papaya just because a girl likes it? That's not giving, that's cringe."

Marcus texted back: "it's called romantic gesture king behavior 🤴"

His phone buzzed. Jaylen: "it's called desperate behavior 🚩"

The truth was, Marcus had been in a situationship-adjacent orbit with Maya since before winter break. They had math together. She laughed at his terrible jokes. Once, she'd rested her head on his shoulder on the bus. But whenever he tried to actually make a move, he'd short-circuit like a glitched NPC.

Now it was summer, and if he didn't shoot his shot before sophomore year, he never would.

The next day at the lake hangout, Marcus pulled out the papaya like it was Excalibur. He sat near where Maya and her friends were tanning, feeling like a total poser. He took a bite.

Immediately, he wished he hadn't. It tasted like someone had injected a melon with perfume.

"Is that papaya?" Maya's voice came from behind him.

Marcus choked. "Uh, yeah? I'm, like, really into it. Huge fan. Big papaya guy."

Maya laughed, but not meanly. "You hate it. Your face just did the thing."

"The thing?"

"The 'I'm pretending this isn't gross' thing." She sat beside him. "My grandma made me eat it when I was little. I have trauma."

"So your story was... cap?"

"I was doing a bit! I didn't know you'd go full method actor." She bumped his shoulder with hers. His entire nervous system shut down.

Later that afternoon, someone suggested baseball at the diamond near the parking lot. Marcus hadn't played since eighth grade, but suddenly he was up to bat, with Maya watching from the dugout. No pressure.

He swung at the first pitch and missed so hard he spun himself into a circle. Jaylen wolf-whistled from the outfield. Maya facepalmed.

Second pitch: foul tip. Third: he actually made contact, a pathetic dribbler that rolled ten feet. But he booked it to first base, sliding in dramatically even though the ball was nowhere near him. He looked up to find Maya laughing so hard she was crying.

After the game, everyone sat in the dugout, sweaty and tired. Maya ended up next to him.

"You know," she said, "that slide was totally unnecessary. But it was a vibe."

Marcus's brain short-circuited again. "Is that good?"

"It's giving... potential."

She pulled a bag of goldfish crackers from her bag. "Want some? They're the cheddar kind. Superior."

Marcus took a handful, their fingers brushing. His heart did something illegal.

"Hey," she said, not moving her hand away. "You wanna come to the carnival with me Friday? Just us?"

Friday came, and the carnival lights blurred against the summer sky. They rode the Ferris wheel twice. They shared cotton candy that turned their tongues blue. Marcus won her a stuffed penguin from a claw machine after eight dollars and pure determination.

At the end of the night, walking to her dad's car, Maya said, "You know, I lied about the papaya."

"What?"

"I actually do like it. But I like that you tried something weird just because I mentioned it. Even if you clearly hated it."

She kissed his cheek. His face burned. The universe seemed to tilt on its axis.

"See you at school, Marcus."

"Yeah. See you."

He floated home, sat on his bed, and texted Jaylen: "mission accomplished 🤴🐟🔥"

That night, Marcus fell asleep with the taste of papaya still weird on his tongue, the smell of carnival in his hair, and a future that felt like it was finally, actually beginning.