Papaya Riot at the Barn

Jayla's summer wasn't supposed to start with a papaya explosion, but here we were.

"You'll love helping at the market," Mom had said. "It's character building." Character building was apparently code for standing behind a fruit stand in ninety-degree heat while your friends posted beach pics that you'd definitely see later and definitely cry about.

The upside: Danny from third period chemistry worked the booth next to hers. The downside: everything else.

"Yo, check it," Danny said, nodding toward the parking lot. "That's old man Henderson's bull."

Jayla looked up. A massive bull was casually strolling through the market like he owned the place. Vendors were ducking under tables. Someone's dog—a tiny chihuahua in a sparkly collar—barked its little head off before bolting toward the exit.

"Shouldn't someone... do something?" Jayla asked, voice doing that embarrassing squeaky thing when she was nervous.

Danny shrugged, all effortless chill. "Nah, he does this every summer. Just let him vibe."

The bull made a beeline for their booth. Not the organic honey. Not the homemade candles. Their papaya display.

Jayla's brain short-circuited. The bull lowered its massive head toward a particularly perfect papaya she'd spent twenty minutes arranging. On instinct—pure, unwired instinct—she grabbed the papaya and...

...threw it.

The papaya sailed through the air in a beautiful arc before splatting against the market manager's back. The manager—who'd been sneaking up on the bull with a rope— froze. Papaya dripped down his polo shirt like something from a comedy sketch.

The bull blinked at her, snorted what looked suspiciously like laughter, and wandered toward the funnel cake truck.

"My bad," Jayla whispered.

Danny was losing it. Doubling over, wheezing, actual tears.

"That was legendary," he gasped. "Actually legendary."

The manager turned slowly, papaya sliding down his spine. "Whose idea was this?"

Before Jayla could sacrifice herself, Danny stepped up. "My bad, sir. I was trying to distract the bull and... missed."

He winked at her when the manager turned away.

Later, behind the booth, sharing stolen samples of mango salsa, Danny said, "You're welcome for the save. Also, that throw? Impressive."

Jayla's face burned. For all the wrong reasons. "I panicked."

"Nah, you defended the produce." He grinned. "Wanna hang out after closing? I know this spot that doesn't card."

Jayla's phone buzzed—another beach pic. She didn't look. "Yeah," she said. "I'd like that."

Her summer was off to a weird start. But weird could be good. Weird could be excellent.