Papaya Palms

Maya's palms were sweating—like, actually dripping onto her brand new Nikes. Great. First day of freshman track tryouts and she looked like she'd just gone swimming instead of just standing there.

"You're running next," called Chloe, the senior captain who had perfect hair and probably never sweated a day in her life. Maya nodded, trying to look casual instead of like she was internally screaming.

This morning had been a disaster. Her mom, in her endless quest to be "that healthy mom," had forced Maya to eat papaya for breakfast. FRESH papaya. Who even eats papaya at 6 AM? Now Maya's stomach was doing somersaults that had nothing to do with pre-race nerves.

"3... 2... 1... GO!"

Maya took off. Her legs moved fast—too fast. She'd been running track since middle school, knew better than to sprint the whole first lap, but nerves + papaya disaster = questionable life choices. By the second lap, she could feel it coming. That distinctive papaya rebellion.

She veered off the track, ignoring Coach Miller's confused "Maya?" and sprinted toward the portable toilets behind the field. Because nothing says "cool freshman" quite like sprinting away from your first high school race to throw up tropical fruit in a plastic bathroom.

She locked the door and leaned against the wall, mortified. This was it. Her social life, over before it began. She'd be known as Papaya Girl for the next four years.

Knock on the door. "You okay?" It was Chloe's voice.

"Fine," Maya croaked. "Just... coming down with something."

"Same thing happened to me last year," Chloe said through the door. "Except it was a breakfast burrito, and I threw up on the starter's shoes."

Maya couldn't help it—she snorted. "Seriously?"

"Scouts honor. Look, take your time. Nobody's watching. We've all been there."

When Maya finally emerged, face burning, Chloe was waiting. "Hey," she said, extending her hand. "I'm Chloe. You've got great form when you're not running away from the track. We should work on your endurance though."

Maya looked at Chloe's outstretched hand. Her own palms were still sweaty, but she shook it anyway.

"I'm Maya," she said. "And I'm never eating papaya again."

Chloe laughed. "Good call. Welcome to the team, Papaya Girl. Just kidding. Mostly."