Papaya Nights at the Bottom of the Pyramid

Maya smoothed the front of her employee polo, her palm sweating against the cheap fabric. Three weeks into sophomore year at Canyon Creek High, and she was still dead last on the social pyramid. Not that she cared. Much.

"You gonna stand there all day or actually stock the papayas?" Carlos, her manager and also her dad's best friend, gestured at the crate of orange-fleshed fruit.

"I'm going," Maya muttered, grabbing a papaya like it had personally offended her. Working at her family's grocery store wasn't exactly how she'd planned to spend her Friday nights, but someone had to pay for the cable she needed to stream her shows while "studying."

The automatic doors whooshed open. Maya didn't look up until she heard that laugh—the one that made the back of her neck prickle. Jordan Torres. Junior class president, cheer co-captain, and currently standing three feet away in mismatched socks and what looked like her brother's hoodie.

"Hey, Maya, right?" Jordan picked up a papaya, inspected it like it was a rare artifact. "These things look weird as hell. What do you even do with them?"

Maya's brain short-circuited. This was not in the script. Jordan Torres was supposed to be at some party with the rest of the pyramid's upper crust, not discussing tropical fruit with the grocery store girl.

"You, um, cut it open. Scoop out the seeds. Eat it with lime." Maya's voice came out smaller than she intended. "It's actually pretty good."

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? Show me."

They ended up behind the store, sitting on milk crates while Maya demonstrated proper papaya consumption. Jordan talked about how much she hated being Student Council president, how her mom was pressuring her to apply to Ivy League schools, how sometimes she just wanted to disappear.

"I thought you had it all figured out," Maya said.

Jordan laughed, but it wasn't her usual performative cheer. "That's just the brand, you know? The social pyramid's exhausting. Sometimes I wish I could just... exist without everyone watching."

She held out her hand. "Read my palm. You seem like you'd be into that stuff."

Maya hesitated, then traced the lines on Jordan's hand. "I see... someone who needs more papaya in her life."

Jordan's genuine laugh echoed against the brick wall. The neon grocery store sign flickered overhead, bathing them in harsh fluorescent light. Somewhere, Maya's phone buzzed with texts she'd ignored all night.

"You know," Jordan said, licking lime juice from her fingers, "I think I like the bottom of the pyramid better. The view's more interesting down here."

Maya smiled, finally relaxing. "Yeah. We've got better fruit too."