Mascot Dreams and Papaya Kisses

Sophomore year was supposed to be my glow-up era. Instead, I was stuck inside a polyester **bear** costume, sweating through third period while my classmates took TikToks of me doing the ironic mascot wave. The assignment had come from Mr. Henderson, who thought it would build "school spirit" if each student took a turn as Buttons the Bear. My best friend Kenya said it was character building. I said it was social suicide.

"You're literally so dramatic," Kenya said as she watched me peel off the bear head in the girls' bathroom. "At least you didn't get assigned to work at your mom's store AGAIN."

She wasn't wrong. My summer had been spent organizing **vitamin** supplements at my mom's wellness shop, explaining the benefits of omega-3s to keto moms who definitely knew more than I did. The only highlight had been Marcus — the **baseball** player from across the street — coming in for Gatorade and somehow always finding his way to my aisle.

"Hey," he'd said last week, leaning against the vitamin C display. "You going to the game Friday?"

"Maybe," I'd managed, my voice cracking. "If I'm not busy.

"Busy doing what? Being a mascot?" He'd grinned. "Nah, come watch. I'm pitching."

Now it was Friday, and I was babysitting my brother's **goldfish** — a depressed-looking creature named Bubbles — because my family had decided last minute to visit my aunt. Marcus's game started in an hour, and I was stuck at home, fish-sitting and eating sliced **papaya** from the fridge because I was "too young to stay home alone" without snacks.

The goldfish was looking at me. I was looking at my phone, watching Kenya's Instagram stories from the game. Marcus had struck out six batters. The caption read: "MVP 🔥"

My phone buzzed.

"You coming?" — Marcus.

I looked at the goldfish. I looked at the papaya. I looked at my sweatpants, then at the bear head sitting on my bed.

Some ideas are bad ideas that are actually great ideas.

Ten minutes later, I was walking toward the baseball field in Buttons the Bear head, a fish bowl in one arm, and papaya slices in a plastic bag. Kenya found me first.

"You're actually insane," she said, but she was grinning.

Marcus spotted me near the dugout. He didn't laugh. He walked over, still in his uniform, dirt on his cleats.

"Nice head," he said.

"Nice pitching," I muffled through the bear snout.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small box of vitamin gummies — the ones from my mom's store.

"Brought these for you. Also..." He paused. "You want to get food tomorrow? Like, not as a bear?"

The goldfish swam in its bowl, oblivious to how hard my heart was hammering.

"Only if there's no papaya," I said.

Marcus laughed. "Deal."

Sometimes the most embarrassing moments become the best stories. And sometimes a goldfish, a bear head, and a baseball player are exactly what you need to find your glow.