Palm Sunday at the Papaya Stand

Maya adjusted her bucket **hat**, pulling the brim low. First day of sophomore year, and she was already serving drama at the fruit stand her abuela ran. The **papaya** tower wobbled beside her—three perfect pyramids, because Abuela believed in precision even when selling mangoes to tourists.

"You good, Maya?" asked Jace, leaning against the **palm** tree by the register. His fitted tee said DREW HOUSE but Maya knew he thrifted it. His curls were fresh, though. That was new.

"Abuela's making me wear the **orange** apron again," Maya groaned. "I look like a traffic cone."

Jace laughed, showing those perfect teeth that made half the sophomore girls simper in the halls. "Traffic cones get noticed, though."

Before Maya could clap back, CHAD walked up. Actual Chad. The **bull** of East High, wearing his varsity jacket in eighty-degree weather because apparently overheating was a flex.

"Yo, your nana got the good stuff?" Chad asked, already reaching for a papaya without checking the price. Like money was just something that happened to other people.

Jace stepped in front of her. "Abuela prices are firm, Chad. You know this."

Chad's face did that thing where he tried to decide if he should be mad or play it cool. "Chill, I got cash." He tossed a crumpled twenty onto the counter. "Keep the change."

Maya watched Chad walk away, papaya in hand like he'd conquered something. She looked at Jace, who was already turning back to his phone, casual like he hadn't just defended her honor.

"Since when do you go hard for me?" she asked, trying to sound unbothered.

Jace looked up, and for once his cool-guy mask slipped. "Since you're the only person who actually talks to me like I'm regular." He shrugged. "Besides, your abuela's papayas are worth fighting for."

Maya adjusted her hat again, smiling behind the brim. Maybe sophomore year wouldn't be trash after all.