Papaya & Crush Confidential

Maya adjusted the brim of her stolen baseball cap, pulling it low over her eyes. The hat smelled like her older brother's old cologne and stale Doritos, but it was perfect for Operation: Don't Make Eye Contact With Jason.

She'd become a total spy lately. Not the cool Netflix kind with gadgets and badass outfits—more the lurking-behind-library-bookshelves, memorizing-Jason's-schedule kind. Pathetic? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely.

Her phone buzzed. Hannah: "Target spotted near the papaya display. Proceed with caution."

Maya's stomach did that thing where it forgot how to exist. Jason Gonzalez, junior varsity soccer captain and the reason Maya had spent forty minutes straightening her hair this morning despite knowing humidity would destroy it anyway, was currently examining tropical fruit five feet away.

She'd come to the grocery store with her mom. The plan had been simple: grab milk, maybe linger in the snack aisle, definitely NOT have a meltdown in public. But now Operation Don't Make Eye Contact was compromised because apparently Jason also needed papayas on a Tuesday afternoon.

"Hey, Maya?"

Her hair slipped from behind her ear. She'd pinned it back precisely three times this morning because it kept falling in her face when she was nervous, which was constantly lately. Being sixteen was exhausting.

Jason was holding a papaya like it was a soccer ball he was about to kick. "You, uh, know anything about these? My mom wants to make something for my abuela's birthday and I'm texting her pictures like 'is this even the right fruit' and she's not answering."

Maya's brain short-circuited. Jason Gonzalez was talking to her. About papayas. In the produce section.

"They're, um, supposed to be soft when they're ripe," she managed. "Like, give it a gentle press? If it's too hard, it's not ready. If it's mushy, it's basically dead inside."

Jason laughed. Like, actually laughed. "Dead inside. Same, bro. Same."

Maya's phone buzzed again. Hannah: "STATUS REPORT???"

"Thanks," Jason said, selecting another papaya. "You're, like, actually helpful. Unlike some people." He gestured vaguely toward his pocket where his phone was blowing up.

Maya's face burned. The spy mission was a complete failure. She'd blown her cover.

"Anytime," she said, proud her voice didn't squeak.

As Jason walked away, Maya's phone lit up. Hannah: "HE LIKES YOU. I SAW THAT. HE CALLED YOU HELPFUL."

Maya adjusted her hat, watching him turn down the cereal aisle. Maybe tomorrow she'd wear her hair down. Maybe tomorrow she'd even say hi first.

Being a spy was overrated anyway. The papaya mission had been way more fun.