Papara Ranch Rescue

The humid Puerto Rican air clung to my skin as I crouched behind Tío Carlos's pickup truck, heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break out. Papaya Ranch had seemed like a chill place to spend spring break—until I'd accidentally provoked their prize **bull**, Toro, by waving my red **iPhone** case too close to his fence.

Now here I was, seventeen years old, hiding from a very angry bovine while my family had no clue where I'd wandered off to. My palms were sweating so bad I could barely grip my phone, which was currently blowing up with texts from Maya asking where I'd ghosted to.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," I muttered, watching Toro paw at the dirt about twenty feet away. He'd settled down but was still keeping his massive, horned head trained in my direction.

A flash of orange fur darted past the truck. A **cat**—some stray ranch cat—had appeared, weaving confidently between Toro's legs like the bull wasn't a thousand-pound killing machine. Toro barely flicked an ear.

The cat hopped onto the truck bed beside me, yellow eyes unimpressed. It began grooming its paw like this was totally normal.

"You got a death wish, buddy?" I whispered.

The cat's ears perked. Then it bolted toward the house, Toro watching it go. That's when I noticed the cat had been sitting on something—a slice of **papaya**, probably fallen from someone's lunch. Toro's nose lifted, sniffing the air.

*Wait.*

I remembered Tío Carlos mentioning something earlier about Toro being obsessed with papaya. Like, weirdly obsessed. The old guy had called it "bull candy" or something.

My hands shook as I picked up the papaya slice the cat had abandoned. Toro's head snapped toward me, nostrils flaring.

"Hey... big guy," I called softly, holding out the fruit like an offering. "You want this?"

Toro took a step. Then another. I stayed perfectly still, heart in my throat, as he approached. His massive head lowered, warm breath puffing against my **palm**, and then—*snorf*—he gently took the papaya from my hand.

I let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

Behind me, I heard Maya's voice: "Javier? Oh my god, are you—wait, are you feeding Tío Carlos's prize bull?"

I turned to find her standing there, phone raised, already recording.

"Don't post that," I said, grinning despite myself.

"Too late," she said, laughing. "This is getting so many likes."