Papaya Lightning at Bear Lake

Maya's first mistake was wearing her favorite orange shirt to Skylar's end-of-summer party. Second mistake: actually showing up.

The papaya sat innocently on the snack table, its alien-green skin mocking Maya's existence. "Who even eats papaya?" she muttered, hovering near the chips like a socially awkward ghost.

Then she saw him—Leo, leaning against the porch railing like he owned the whole concept of cool. Maya became an instant spy, tracking his movements through the crowd while pretending to be fascinated by everything except him.

"Hey, you're Maya, right?" Suddenly he was THERE. Five feet of terrifyingly cute humanity.

Her brain short-circuited. "Yup. That's me. Maya. Human person."

Smooth. Really smooth.

"Cool shirt," Leo said. "Orange is my favorite color."

Before she could respond, Skylar announced from the porch: "Alright, who's ready for the Bear Lake story?"

Everyone rushed outside. The party had migrated to the dock just as the first crack of lightning split the sky. Maya found herself squeezed onto a wooden bench beside Leo, their shoulders barely touching. Her heart performed gymnastics routines.

"So my cousin saw it last summer," Skylar was saying, flashlight under her chin. "A massive black bear, right where we're sitting."

Another lightning flash illuminated the lake. Maya shivered—and felt Leo's arm press against hers. Not on purpose, but definitely not accidentally either.

"Bears don't actually like papaya," someone joked. The group laughed.

"What?" Maya whispered.

Leo leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Freshman year homecoming. You wore this same orange dress. I asked you to dance, but you ditched me for a papaya smoothie run."

She froze. The memory hit like lightning—literally, as the sky flashed again. She HIDDENLY rushed off that night, convinced nobody would actually want to dance with the weird quiet girl.

"I... I thought you were joking."

"I wasn't." His hand found hers in the darkness. "I've been trying to get your attention for two years, Maya. You're really oblivious."

The storm broke overhead as their fingers intertwined. Sometimes, she thought, lightning really does strike twice.