Papaya Sphinx Summer

The papaya sat on the cafeteria table like a radioactive alien artifact.

"Dude, what IS that?" Jason asked, scrunching his face. "It looks like something that died."

I sighed. This is why I never brought food from home. "It's papaya. It's good. My grandma grows them."

"Whatever you say, man." Jason turned to Maya, who was watching me with that sphinx-like stare she'd perfected—half amusement, half something else I couldn't read.

That was the problem with Maya. She was beautiful in that unapproachable way, with dark eyes that seemed to know everyone's secrets before they even spoke. I'd been crushing on her since seventh grade, and I was still a bull in a china shop around her.

Friday's pool party loomed like a cliff edge. Everyone would be there. Everyone would be swimming. Everyone except me, because I'd never learned.

"You coming to Tyler's party?" Jason asked, then answered himself. "Never mind, stupid question. You never swim."

Maya's eyes locked onto mine. The sphinx had awakened.

"I swim," I said, even though it was approximately 80% a lie. I could splash around in the shallow end if my life depended on it.

"Cool," she said. "See you there."

The sphinx had spoken, and now I had to deliver.

By Saturday afternoon, I stood at the edge of Tyler's pool feeling like I was about to jump into a black hole. Kids cannonballed around me. Someone did a belly flop. The air smelled of sunscreen and chlorine and teen desperation.

I practiced breathing. In, out. You are not a bull. You are not about to charge. You are a person who can definitely swim, sort of, maybe.

"You gonna stand there all day?"

Maya. Behind me. Wet hair slicked back, droplets on her shoulders like tiny jewels.

"Just warming up," I said, because my mouth apparently moved on its own now.

She laughed. "Come on then."

We waded in together. I didn't drown. I didn't even embarrass myself too badly. We floated on our backs staring up at the sky until she said, "You know what my favorite fruit is?"

"Please say papaya."

"Papaya. My abuela makes the best papaya smoothies."

The sphinx had spoken again, but this time I finally understood the riddle.

"Tomorrow," I said. "I'll bring you one from my grandma's tree."

She smiled like she'd been waiting for the right answer all along.

I still couldn't really swim. But as we floated there, papaya promised and bull moments survived, I figured that was okay. Some things you learn gradually. Some things all at once.