Papaya Between the Bases

The social pyramid at Northwood High was real, and Carlos had landed somewhere near the bottom—maybe the dirt layer, definitely below the brick. Junior year was supposed to be different. This was supposed to be the year he finally climbed up.

"Dude, you gonna eat that?" Marcus pointed at Carlos's lunch.

Carlos looked down at the wedges of papaya his abuela had packed. Again. The fruit that smelled like feet and announced to the entire cafeteria that Carlos was That Guy whose grandma still made his lunch.

"It's... good actually," Carlos lied, pushing it around his tray.

"If you say so." Marcus turned toward the varsity baseball table, where the金字塔 truly peaked. Jordan Rivera sat there—laughing, tossing a baseball between her hands, looking like she owned the whole school. She'd made varsity as a sophomore. Carlos hadn't even tried out.

"You should try out," Marcus said, following his gaze. "Practice is today after school."

Carlos's stomach twisted. "I haven't played since Little League."

"So? Jordan wasn't born with a glove in her hand." Marcus grinned. "Unless you're scared."

"I'm not scared." Carlos straightened. "I'm just... realistic."

That afternoon, Carlos stood at the edge of the baseball field, glove feeling foreign in his hand. The coach waved him over. "You Rivera's cousin?"

"No relation."

"You got an arm. Let's see it."

Carlos threw. The ball sailed—high, wild, nowhere near the target. Someone laughed. Heat flooded his cheeks.

"Again," said Jordan, stepping behind home plate, crouching. Her knees were dirty, her face focused. "Like you mean it."

Carlos threw again. Better.

"You're thinking too much," she said, tossing the ball back. "Just throw."

He threw. She caught it cleanly.

"See? You're overcomplicating it." She stood, dusting off her pants. "You coming tomorrow?"

"Maybe."

"Good." She jogged toward the dugout. "Bring your own lunch though. The papaya smell's gonna distract the whole team."

Carlos stood frozen as the team laughed—not at him, with him.

His phone buzzed. Abuela: ¿Comiste la papaya, mijo?

Carlos smiled, typing back: Sí, Abuela. Y mañana de nuevo.

The pyramid wasn't going anywhere. But maybe he didn't have to stay at the bottom forever.