Papaya at the Pyramid

The social pyramid at Lincoln High was basically an architectural disaster, and I was living in the basement. My best friend Maya had been spending all summer running cross country, somehow managing to climb three levels while I was stuck down here with the chess club kids and that one guy who smelled like straight-up onions.

"You need to get out more," Maya said, dumping her gym bag on my bed. "There's a party at the lake tonight. Everyone's gonna be there."

I stared at her like she'd grown three heads. "You know I don't swim, right? Like, at all?"

"So don't swim. Just hang out. And bring snacks."

Which is how I ended up at this massive bonfire party with a papaya I'd grabbed from my mom's kitchen counter because I was too panicked to think straight. The papaya was this weird alien fruit my parents kept buying from the international market, all orange and squishy with seeds that looked like something from outer space.

I stood there clutching my exotic fruit like it was a lifeline while everyone else was either swimming in the lake or standing around looking effortlessly cool. Then I saw him—Tyler, who was basically the golden bear of our school, athletic and charming and completely out of my league.

He was standing near the makeshift snack table, looking weirdly thoughtful.

"Is that a papaya?" he asked, and I swear my heart did this uncomfortable little flip thing.

"Uh, yeah? My parents buy them. I've never actually tried one."

Tyler's face lit up. "Dude, I've always wanted to try one. Those things look so aesthetic."

We ended up sitting on this log eating papaya with our fingers, getting sticky orange juice everywhere while he told me about how everyone expected him to be this perfect athlete but he actually wanted to join the drama club. Meanwhile, Maya was doing laps around us, literally running circles because she'd signed up for some midnight charity thing.

"The social pyramid is BS anyway," Tyler said, sucking papaya juice off his thumb. "My parents are getting divorced and I'm failing algebra. Nobody's really at the top of anything."

I looked at the lake, where kids were still swimming and laughing and being teenagers. "Maybe we're all just treading water until we figure it out."

"Deep," Tyler said, grinning. "Hey, you wanna come to drama club with me Monday? We're doing improv."

I looked at my sticky hands, the half-eaten papaya, and Maya who was now running back toward us with this massive smile on her face.

"Yeah," I said. "I think I'd like that."

Later, walking home with Maya under these actual stars that looked way brighter than anything on my phone, I realized something: sometimes you don't climb the pyramid. Sometimes you just eat weird fruit with the golden bear and realize everyone's just figuring it out, one sticky mess at a time.