Papaya Protocol

The papaya sat on my desk like an alien artifact, its orange flesh glistening under my desk lamp. I'd bought it because *she* liked exotic fruit — because her Instagram story showed her eating mango like it was normal to be sophisticated at sixteen.

My cat, Nacho, watched from my bed, judgment in his yellow eyes. "Don't look at me like that," I told him. "I'm not a creep."

I *was* totally a creep though. For three weeks, I'd been basically cyber-spying on Maya from across the cul-de-sac. Not like, watching-her-bedroom creepy. More like... accidentally memorizing her Spotify playlists and noticing she wore the same cropped hoodie every Friday. Normal stuff.

Tomorrow was Jordan's pool party. Everyone was going. The social hierarchy would solidify in chlorine water, and I'd be on the sidelines with the other drifters unless I made a move.

The HDMI cable from my monitor draped across my floor like a dead snake. I'd tripped over it five times today. Everything in my room was a mess — including my game plan.

I took a bite of the papaya.

It tasted like soap. Actual dish soap. How did Maya eat this stuff and make it look aesthetic?

Nacho meowed. I swear he was laughing.

"Shut up, at least I'm trying," I said, swallowing the soap-fruit. "What are you doing? Sleeping? Real ambitious."

The pool party would have underwater LED lights. Jordan's older brother had installed them last summer. I pictured myself standing there in my trunks, holding papaya slices like some kind of exotic fruit tray guy, while Maya floated in the glowing blue water, hair slicked back, droplets sliding down her—

Okay, wow, calm down.

I stared at the papaya remains. Maybe I'd bring it. "Hey Maya, want some papaya?" No, that was weird. "Yeah, I just love papaya." Fake. She'd see right through it.

Nacho stretched, stood up, and walked over to jump onto my desk. He sniffed the papaya, then looked at me.

"Don't you dare—"

He knocked it off the desk. The papaya splatted on the carpet.

I stared at the orange disaster. Then I started laughing. Like, actually laughing. Because of course. Of course the universe didn't want me to be someone I wasn't.

"You're right," I told Nacho. "Screw papaya. I'll bring chips like a normal person."

Tomorrow, I'd just talk to her. Maybe I'd say something awkward. Maybe she'd think I was weird. But at least it would be real.

Nacho purred and butted his head against my hand. Small win. The papaya was gone, but at least the cat approved.