Papaya Code

My life peaked at 3:47 PM on a Tuesday, wearing a fluorescent orange fruit stand hat and holding a papaya like it was a grenade.

"Operation **Papaya** is a go," Maya whispered, ducking behind the stack of vitamin supplements where we'd definitely get caught eventually. "Remember the signal."

"The signal is ridiculous," I said, adjusting my stupid hat. It said TROPICAL PARADISE in letters big enough to see from space.

"That's why it's perfect. No one suspects the ridiculous."

Maya had decided we were basically spies now. Not, like, cool spies with gadgets and martinis—more likeawkward freshmen spies trying to figure out why Jordan Rivera, who I'd been lowkey obsessed with since September, kept coming into this grocery store every Tuesday and Thursday at exactly the same time. Never buying anything. Just walking through the produce section like he was casing the joint.

"He's not actually a spy," I said for the fiftieth time. "He's probably just... walking."

"Then why the same route? Why the same timing?" Maya narrowed her eyes like she was in a movie. "Something's up. I can feel it."

Outside, the sky turned that weird greenish color that means either a tornado is coming or you're about to make some questionable life choices. Then lightning cracked—a white-purple scar across the sky, close enough that the automatic doors did that nervous opening-and-closing thing.

"That's our signal!" Maya hissed.

"That's literally just weather."

"Jordan's by the mangoes! MOVE!"

I walked. Or tried to walk. I mostly sort of lurched toward the mango section with my papaya still in hand like a complete weirdo.

Jordan was there. He was—no joke—taking pictures of the fruit display with his phone.

"Uh," I said, because I'm a champion of words. "Hi?"

He jumped like I'd electrocuted him. "Oh! Hey, you're—you're the hat kid from last week."

"The hat kid. That's me. Famous throughout the land."

Jordan laughed. It was annoying how genuine it sounded. "No, for real, I was hoping I'd run into you. Your friend—"

"Maya?"

"Yeah! She told me you might be working today." He held up his phone. "I'm doing this photo series about artificial lighting in grocery stores for AP Art. Want to see?"

The pictures were—okay, they were actually kind of amazing. Fluorescent lights turning papaya skin into something alien. Reflections on apple surfaces. A whole series about how fake everything looks under those buzzing tubes.

"That's... actually really cool," I said, and I meant it.

"Thanks." Jordan smiled, and my stomach did that thing where it forgets how organs work. "Hey, I was wondering if you'd want to model for some of them? You know, with the hat? It's perfect."

I stood there holding my papaya grenade while automatic doors breathed nervously behind me and Maya made a weird victory dance from behind the vitamin aisle.

"Yeah," I said, feeling lightning run up my spine, the good kind this time. "Yeah, I think I'd like that."

Outside, the storm broke open. Rain came down like it'd been holding it in forever.

Some operations fail. Some operations change everything. Ours involved a fruit stand hat, a grocery store, and a papaya I never did put back. But I think we nailed it.