Papara, Papaya

I never meant to be that friend. The one who lurks in doorways, who knows everyone's secrets but shares nothing. But somewhere around freshman year, I'd become the designated spy of Northwood High's social hierarchy. I knew who was dating whom, who was failing algebra, who'd cried in the bathroom during third period.

"You're basically a human Instagram algorithm," Jade had said last week, laughing like it was a compliment. We'd been friends since kindergarten, before high school carved us into different people. Now she was volleyball popular, and I was... observant.

"That's not a thing," I'd muttered, scrolling through my phone.

But the spy thing had consequences. Like now, standing in the tropical foods aisle at FoodsCo, staring at a papaya like it held the answers to my existence problem. Because the papaya represented everything I wasn't: exotic, confident, unapologetically itself.

My phone buzzed. Jade: *u coming to kaylas party??*

I typed: *maybe* while actually thinking: *I'd rather dissolve into the earth*.

"Need help with that?" A guy leaned against the aisle, Hawaiian shirt over a band tee. Luke, from my history class. The one who always sat in back, doodling in his notebook instead of taking notes.

"I'm doing reconnaissance," I said, then immediately wanted to die.

Luke's eyebrows went up. "On fruit?"

"My friend wants to make papaya boat bowls for her party," I lied smoothly. "I'm the spy. I mean, the scout. Checking if they're ripe."

He picked one up, pressed his thumb into it. "This one's perfect. You give it to the wall, it bruises right back. Know what I mean?"

Something in my chest untwisted. "Yeah. Actually, I do."

"You're at Kayla's thing tonight?" he asked, not looking away.

"Probably." Another lie, but this one felt different.

"Cool." He set the papaya in my cart. "Your friend's got taste."

Walking home, the papaya sat on the passenger seat of my life like an orange question mark. Maybe I didn't have to be the spy anymore. Maybe I could just be someone who bought weird fruit and showed up at parties and let conversations happen without cataloging them for later.

Jade texted again: *bring ur swim suit!!*

I typed back: *bet. And I'm bringing papaya.*

The three little bubbles appeared immediately. *what??*

*You'll see.*

For the first time in forever, I wasn't watching from the doorway. I was walking through it.