Papaya Smoothies and Midnight Spies

The fluorescent lights of the 7-Eleven buzzed like a dying insect as Maya leaned against the slushie machine, feeling exactly like a **zombie** after finals week. Three AP tests, two panic attacks, and approximately zero hours of sleep would do that to a person.

"You look terrible," said Jordan, sliding into the booth across from her. He was wearing that hoodie—the one with the mysterious stain on the sleeve—and scrolling through his phone with practiced indifference.

"Thanks, Jordan. Really. That's exactly what I needed to hear."

He smirked, then passed her a bottle. "**Water**. You're dehydrated. I can tell because your face is doing that thing where it looks like a deflated balloon."

Maya cracked the cap and drank. "I'm supposed to be studying for chem right now. Instead, I'm here at midnight with you, procrastinating my life away."

"Technically," Jordan said, "I'm **spy**ing on my ex-girlfriend. She works the late shift at the pizza place across the street. I'm trying to figure out if she's dating anyone new."

"That's not spying. That's being creepy."

"Same difference."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before Jordan's phone buzzed. His face went pale.

"What?" Maya asked.

"My ex just posted this." He turned the screen toward her. A photo of a **papaya** smoothie bowl with the caption: *"When your best friend makes you try healthy things and it's actually fire 💫*"

Maya squinted at the photo. "Okay?"

"No, don't you get it? She's allergic to papaya. Like, would literally go into anaphylactic shock papaya. That's not her post. Someone else took it. From her phone."

"Or... she got a new phone and logged into the wrong account?"

"Or," Jordan said, his eyes widening, "someone hacked her Instagram and is posting random fruit photos to mess with her."

Maya snorted. "Or—and hear me out—she just ate papaya for the first time and didn't die."

Jordan stared at her. Then he started laughing. Hard. The kind of laugh that made people in nearby booths turn around and stare.

"What's so funny?"

"I've been stalking her posts for three weeks thinking she was dating someone new, and the whole time she was just... eating fruit."

"You're hopeless, Jordan."

"And yet," he said, still grinning, "here you are with me instead of studying chemistry."

Maya looked at him—really looked at him—and felt something shift in her chest. Not big, not dramatic, but real. Like finding a **vitamin** in your pocket you forgot was there.

"Yeah," she said softly. "Here I am."