Papaya Palms Panic
Maya's palms were sweating. Again. She wiped them on her jeans – fifth time in three minutes – and stared at the papaya on the cafeteria table like it was a bomb.
"Dude, just try it," Carlos said, scrolling through his phone. "It's literally fruit."
"I KNOW it's fruit," Maya snapped, then immediately felt bad. Carlos was chill. Her anxiety was the problem here. "Sorry. I'm just... on edge today."
"Tell me about it." Carlos nodded toward the popular table. Where Jaxon sat. Where Jaxon's girlfriend sat. Where Maya had accidentally made eye contact with Jaxon yesterday and then tripped over absolutely nothing.
Humiliation level: maximum.
Her phone buzzed. A text from her mom: Your dad forgot to feed the dog again. The cat literally knocked the food bowl off the counter demanding breakfast.
Maya groaned. "My pets are staging a coup."
"Wanna talk about it?" Carlos actually put his phone down. He was good like that.
"It's just..." Maya sighed. "Everything feels so staged, you know? Like, I'm supposed to have this figured out by now. Who I am, what I'm doing, who I like..." She trailed off.
"You're fifteen, Maya. Nobody has anything figured out. Jaxon probably doesn't even know what a papaya is."
That made her laugh. "Fair."
She picked up her knife. Cut into the papaya. Orange flesh, black seeds. Took a bite.
"...Oh.
"Well?" Carlos raised an eyebrow.
"It tastes like... " She thought about it. "Like if a melon and a mango had a baby that was slightly confused about its identity."
"So, perfect for you then."
"HEY."
They laughed. Maya's phone buzzed again – a photo from her mom. The dog and cat were somehow both squeezed into one tiny pet bed, curled around each other like nothing else in the world mattered.
"Enemies to lovers," she murmured, showing Carlos the picture.
"The dog and cat?"
"No, us. All of us. Everyone. We're all just figuring it out."
"Deep." Carlos nodded sagely. "Also, your palms aren't sweating anymore."
Maya looked down. He was right.
"Oh."
"Progress, my friend. Progress."