Papaya at the Pool Party

Mateo's palms were sweating so bad he could barely grip his phone. The invite had said pool party at Tyler's house, which meant one thing: social suicide or glory. Tyler was the kind of guy who called everyone "bro" and lived to make others feel small.

The backyard looked like something from a magazine. The inground pool sparkled like something out of a movie, and palm trees lined the fence, their shadows stretching across the concrete. Everyone was already in the water, laughing and screaming. Except Mateo, who stood by the snack table like a loser.

"Hey, Mateo!" Tyler shouted, splashing water onto the concrete. "Your mom pack you a lunch too?"

Mateo's face burned. He'd forgotten his lunchbox on the table – the one with papaya and plantains, the stuff his abuela made him love. Tyler swam over and grabbed it, holding it up like a trophy.

"What is this?" Tyler sneered. "Papaya? Bro, that's hilarious."

Someone laughed. Mateo's fists clenched. He could feel the bull inside him, that anger that made him want to scream.

But then Maya – Tyler's sister, who was actually nice – climbed out of the pool. She grabbed the lunchbox from Tyler's hands.

"You're being a jerk," she said, dropping the box back on the table. "Papaya's actually amazing. You're just too basic to appreciate it." She turned to Mateo. "My dad's from Puerto Rico. We have this every morning."

Tyler rolled his eyes and swam away, but the damage was done. Maya had stood up for him, and suddenly Mateo didn't feel so alone. He grabbed a piece of papaya from his lunchbox and took a bite, right there by the pool.

"Want some?" he asked Maya.

"Definitely," she said, and for the first time all day, Mateo's palms weren't sweating anymore.