Papaya Protocol

I stood frozen in the tropical fruit aisle, clutching a papaya like it was a bomb. My palms were sweating. This was it — the moment I'd finally get Leo's attention, or completely embarrass myself in front of the whole cafeteria.

The plan had seemed brilliant at 2 AM: bring an exotic fruit to school, act all sophisticated and cultured, maybe finally have something interesting to say besides "nice weather." Now, holding this weird oblong thing that smelled like feet and sunshine, I felt like a total poser.

"That's a papaya, right?"

I spun around. Leo. Standing there. Actual Leo, with his dumb perfect hair and that smile that made my brain short-circuit.

"Yeah," I squeaked. "It's a papaya."

"Cool." He leaned against the shelf. "You know how to eat it?"

I stared at him. "Uh..."

He laughed. "My grandma makes me eat it all the time. You gotta scoop out the seeds and squeeze lime on it. Otherwise it tastes like... well, like you're eating weird melon soap."

"Oh my GOD," I groaned. "I almost brought this to school WITHOUT LIME. That would have been social suicide."

"Total bull," Leo agreed, but he was smiling. "Hey, you should come over. My grandma's making papaya smoothies and she basically force-feeds anyone who walks through the door. Safety in numbers, right?"

My brain malfunctioned. "Is this... are you inviting me to your house?"

"Unless you'd rather stand in the grocery store contemplating fruit-based suicide," he said. "Your call."

Leo's house smelled like cinnamon and something tropical. His grandma turned out to be this tiny fierce woman who immediately started ladling bright orange papaya smoothies into plastic cups.

"You too skinny," she told me, pressing a cup into my hands. "Drink. Become strong like sphinx."

"Sphinx?" Leo asked, confused.

"You know," she waved her hands dramatically. "Mysterious creature. Guard secrets. Very powerful."

"Abuela, sphinxes are Egyptian monsters, not nutritional goals."

"You think too much with your brain," she scoffed. "Not enough with your heart."

We ended up on Leo's back porch, nursing papaya smoothies that actually tasted incredible. The sun was setting, everything glowing gold and pink, and Leo was telling me about how he'd accidentally dyed his hair green last summer using food coloring because he'd wanted to look "like a forest spirit."

"A forest spirit?" I cracked up. "That's the most hipster thing I've ever heard."

"Shut up," he said, grinning. "I was thirteen. I was going through a phase."

"What phase? The 'I need to be approachable to woodland creatures' phase?"

"Exactly." He shifted closer. "So, what's your story? Beyond the attempted papaya-based social climbing?"

I thought about lying, or making something cool up. But the smoothie was good and the porch swing was comfortable and for once, I didn't feel like I had to perform.

"I just..." I sighed. "I wanted to seem interesting. Instead I'm just a person who buys fruit without knowing how to eat it."

Leo looked at me for a long moment. "You know what's interesting?"

"What?"

"Someone who's brave enough to try something weird even if they might look stupid doing it." He gestured at my empty cup. "That's actually pretty cool."

My face heated up again, but this time it wasn't embarrassment. It was something warmer. Something that felt like beginnings.

"You think so?"

"I know so." He paused. "Hey, you want to come back tomorrow? My grandma's thinking about introducing dragon fruit. I'm gonna need backup."

"Only if you promise to stop me if I try to eat it wrong."

"Deal." His smile was different this time — softer. Real. "Maybe I'll even teach you the secret papaya handshake."

"That's definitely bull."

"Totally," he said. "But you'll still show up, won't you?"

"Yeah," I admitted. "Yeah, I will."