Papaya, Bad Hair, and the Walking Dead

Maya felt like a zombie. Not the cool Netflix kind with perfect smoky eye makeup and strategic ripped clothes — the gross, underslept, barely-functioning kind. First period AP Bio was not for the weak, and she'd spent half the night overthinking her conversation with Leo at lunch yesterday. Had she laughed too hard? Was the ranch dressing on her chin? The existential crisis was real.

She caught her reflection in her locker mirror. Her hair was doing... something. Not quite a curl, not quite a wave, just a confusing declaration of independence from gravity itself. She'd spent forty-five minutes trying to tame it this morning, and this was her reward. Sometimes she wondered if her hair had its own personality, maybe even its own political leanings. Today it was feeling chaotic. Fine. Whatever. She could work with chaos.

"Earth to Maya," said Jordan, sliding up beside her. "You good? You look like you haven't slept since 2023."

"I'm functioning on one brain cell and it's currently playing 'baby shark' on loop," Maya muttered. "What's up?"

"Leo's having people over Friday. His parents are out of town. Movie night. Zombie marathon. You should come."

Maya's heart did that annoying fluttery thing it always did when Leo was mentioned. "Oh. Cool. I think I can make that work."

Later at lunch, Maya pulled out the Tupperware container her mom had packed that morning. Papaya chunks with lime and chili powder. She'd literally begged her mom to stop sending her "weird food" freshman year, but somewhere around mid-junior year, she'd stopped caring what people thought. Okay, that was a lie. She still cared, just less.

"Is that... papaya?" Leo asked, sliding into the seat across from her. Because of course he was here. Of course he'd noticed her weird fruit.

"Yeah," Maya said, meeting his eyes. "Want some? My mom puts lime and tajín on it. It's actually fire."

Leo considered this, then tried a piece. His eyes widened. "Wait, this is actually amazing. I've been living wrong."

"The zombie survival skills will really come in handy," Jordan deadpanned from beside her.

Maya laughed, and this time she didn't worry about whether it was too much. Her hair was still doing its own thing, she was eating fruit that made her feel connected to her abuela's kitchen in ways she couldn't always explain, and Leo Santiago thought her lunch was fire.

Maybe she wasn't such a zombie after all. Or maybe being a little undead was exactly what high school was supposed to feel like — hovering between who you were and who you're becoming, waiting for someone to see you. Really see you.

"So Friday," Leo said, still chewing. "You'll come?"

"Yeah," Maya said, and something in her chest settled. "I'll be there."