Papaya Kids on the Bleachers

I've become a professional at the casual linger. You know the move—walk past the baseball field like you're heading somewhere important, then slow down just enough to catch a glimpse of Tyler's perfect swing. My best friend Dev calls it my FBI routine, but honestly, I'm not even subtle about it anymore.

Today something's different. Tyler catches me staring mid-linger. My face burns hotter than my mom's papaya curry as I freeze like I've been busted doing something illegal. But then he waves me over.

"Hey, Papaya Girl," he says, grinning. "You gonna stand there spying all day, or you wanna come sit?"

My stomach does that terrifying flip it does when your crush suddenly acknowledges your existence after months of being invisible. I walk over, trying to look casual despite my heart pounding like crazy.

"My abuela makes papaya smoothies," I blurt out because I have zero chill. "That's why you call me that."

"I know," he says, sliding over on the bleachers. "I was waiting for you to actually talk to me instead of just spy league member-ing from the fence."

Wait. He NOTICED?

"You noticed me noticing you?"

Tyler laughs, and it's this perfect sound that makes everything else fade away. "Dude, you're not exactly subtle. But I liked it. It was... I don't know, nice? Being noticed by someone who actually seems interested in more than my batting average."

We end up sitting there for two hours while his team finishes practice. He tells me about how much pressure he feels to be the baseball star everyone expects him to be. I tell him how hard it was moving here from Miami and feeling like I'd never fit in. He makes fun of my papaya stories. I make fun of his baseball superstitions.

When his coach finally yells that they're done, Tyler stands up but doesn't leave right away.

"Hey," he says, all nervous energy now. "You wanna come with me to get food? Like, as friend-catchers? Not spy-catchers?"

"Friend-catchers isn't a thing, Tyler."

"It is now." He holds out his hand. "So? You in?"

I take it, and his palm is warm against mine. "Yeah. I'm in."

Walking away from the field, I realize the casual linger isn't going to be necessary anymore. I've graduated from the spy league to something way better.