Papaya Courage

Maya's palms were sweating. Like, actually sweating — gross, noticeable dampness that made the solo cup in her hand feel slippery. She'd been standing by the snack table for twenty minutes, watching Tyler laugh with his friends across the room.

"You're staring again," whispered Chloe, her best friend since kindergarten. "Either go talk to him or let's dip. This party's giving me major secondhand embarrassment energy."

"I can't just walk over there," Maya protested, though her eyes kept drifting to Tyler's stupidly perfect hair. "What would I even say? 'Hey, love that shirt, wanna discuss my existential crisis about AP Chem?'

Chloe rolled her eyes. "That's total bull and you know it. You're funny, you're cute, and you actually have things in common. Remember that TikTok you both made about that weird cafeteria pizza?"

Maya took a nervous sip of her drink, which was lukewarm and vaguely orange. "That was, like, three months ago. He probably doesn't even remember."

"Oh my GOD, Maya." Chloe grabbed her arm. "Look, I'm going to the bathroom. When I get back, you'd better have either talked to him or be ready to leave. I'm not spending my Friday night watching you be in your feelings about someone who's literally ten feet away."

Maya's heart pounded as Chloe walked away. Okay, she could do this. She took a deep breath and headed toward the snack table, pretending to examine the fruit arrangement like it was the most fascinating thing on earth.

"Is that papaya?" a voice asked beside her.

Maya jumped. Tyler was standing there, actually standing there, looking at the tropical fruit display with genuine curiosity. "I think so? My mom's obsessed with having 'aesthetic' food for parties."

Tyler laughed, and it was better than she'd imagined. "My mom tried to make me eat healthy last week. Bought a papaya. I tried it and almost threw up. Ten out of ten, would not recommend."

"Same!" Maya said, maybe too enthusiastically. "It's like nature's cruel joke. Looks so good, tastes like... disappointment."

Tyler's eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Exactly. Hey, aren't you in Mr. Harrison's English class? The one who wrote that essay about how Gatsby was basically the original simp?"

Maya's palms stopped sweating. "That's me. I stand by my analysis."

"It was hilarious," he said. "I've been wanting to talk to you about it since he read it aloud. I'm Tyler, by the way."

"Maya," she said, and when he extended his hand, her palm was dry and steady.

Across the room, she saw Chloe giving her a thumbs-up and knew: sometimes the scariest moments are just regular ones in disguise.