Goldfish in the Papaya Tree

The pool party was already mid-level awkward when Jada spotted me standing alone by the snack table, clutching a red plastic cup like it was my only personality trait. I'd spent forty-five minutes working up the nerve to talk to Leo—the cute skater boy who'd moved here from Portland three weeks ago—and instead I was just vibing with the hors d'oeuvres.

"Hey, Maya!" Jada grabbed my arm. "You have to see this."

She dragged me toward the backyard where everyone was gathered around something ridiculous. Someone—the story was disputed—had discovered that Leo's papaya tree was absolutely covered in ripe fruit, and now a competition had emerged.

"You're not seriously doing this," I said, staring at where the pool's **water** rippled under the string lights.

"Ten bucks says I can land one in that bucket," Leo challenged, gesturing at the empty cooler floating in the deep end.

"Make it twenty," said Chloe, who I'm pretty sure only came because she heard Leo's older brother would be home from college.

The setup was this: climb to the top of the rope ladder tied to the palm tree, pick a papaya, and drop it into the moving target in the pool. The physics were all wrong, and I was calculating exactly how many ways this could end in disaster, but everyone was already pulling out their phones.

Leo scaled the tree like it was nothing—of course he did, he probably climbed actual trees in Portland or whatever. His **palm** was practically glued to the bark as he shimmied up, grinning down at everyone like this was the most normal thing in the world.

"Watch this!" he called, and dropped a papaya.

Splash. Miss.

Everyone erupted. "My turn!" yelled some sophomore I'd never even seen before this party.

I hung back, calculating my exit strategy, when Jada shoved me toward the ladder. "You're up, bestie."

"Hard pass," I said, but everyone had already started chanting my name. Because that's what happens when you're the new girl and people think they're being inclusive.

So I climbed. My arms shook. My soul left my body. I could feel Leo watching me, and not in a romantic way—more like he was wondering if he'd need to rescue me from public humiliation.

I reached for a papaya. My foot slipped. I came down fast, but somehow—miraculously—I managed to grab a piece of fruit on my way down and threw it blindly toward the pool as I fell.

Direct hit.

I landed half in the bushes, half on Leo, who'd apparently rushed over to catch me.

"Did you just—" he started, laughing, "did you just ninja-dismount and score?"

"That's not a thing," I said, my face hotter than the summer sun, but I was grinning like an idiot.

Someone's phone pinged. Leo pulled his from his pocket. "My little sister just texted. She won a **goldfish** at the school fair and named it Toast. This feels relevant somehow."

"Toast," I repeated.

"Toast the papaya warrior," he said, offering me a hand up.

I took it. And for the first time all night, I didn't feel like I was drowning in the deep end of a pool I hadn't asked to jump into. Sometimes you just have to let go and see where you land—even if it's in a bush, on top of a cute boy, with a papaya in your hand.