Papaya Six and the Void

Maya's palms were sweating through her favorite oversized hoodie. It was the first house party of sophomore year—Jackson's parents were out of town, obviously—and the entire Instagram story was already documenting it. She'd spent forty minutes on her eyeliner alone.

"You're not actually gonna wear that hat inside, are you?" Chloe side-eyed her beat-up dad cap from the doorway.

"It's my emotional support lid," Maya shot back, though she instantly shoved it into her pocket.

The kitchen smelled like whatever cheap body spray Jackson wore and something weirdly tropical. Someone's older sister had brought a fruit platter that looked suspiciously like a Costco dump run. There, nestled beside sad-looking apple slices, sat a papaya—actual, exotic papaya, like they were in a music video instead of suburban New Jersey.

"Bro, who brings papaya to a rager?" Eric was already drunk on three Natty Lights. "That's such a vibe thiever move."

Then she saw him. Lucas, the quiet junior who sat behind her in bio, currently crouched in the corner feeding orange Cheetos to Jackson's ancient golden retriever. The dog looked like it had seen some stuff.

Maya's brain short-circuited. This was it. The moment. She'd been waiting for this specific second since the first day of school when he'd dropped his pencil and she'd pretended not to notice his hands shaking.

She pivoted toward him. "Hey."

Lucas looked up, dog still aggressively Cheeto-ing. "Oh. Hey."

"Cool dog."

"Thanks. His name is Professor. He's, like, emotionally seventeen."

They stood there. The bass from the living room shook the floor. Someone knocked over a red Solo cup.

"Want some?" Lucas held out the Cheetos bag like a peace offering. "I won't tell anyone you're eating orange processed product at a party that definitely has better options."

Maya laughed—a real one, not the fake polite giggle she'd been perfecting all week. "Only if you explain why you're hiding in the kitchen feeding someone's dog."

"Solidarity," he said, finally standing up. "Also, Professor is the only person here who doesn't make me want to yeet myself into the sun."

"Valid."

"Hey, you know that papaya on the counter?"

"Yeah?"

"I bet neither of us has ever tried it." His eyes were actually bright, interested. "We could be pioneers. Main characters. The kind of people who eat papaya at Jackson Miller's party."

Maya's palms had stopped sweating. "Let's do it."

They cut themselves slices of the most pretentious fruit either had ever encountered. It tasted like nothing and everything at the same time—like being fourteen and trying to figure out who you were supposed to be.

"It's mid," Lucas decided. "But, like, in a charming way."

"Exactly. It's giving 'we're gonna be fine."

They spent the rest of the night on the back porch, ignoring the chaos inside, while Professor the dog snored at their feet and they debated whether papaya was actually good or if they were just low-key desperate for something that wasn't terrifying.

Her hat stayed in her pocket the whole time.