Papaya Summer

The fruit sat on the counter like an alien artifact—orange-fleshed, glistening with strange black seeds.

"You've never had papaya?" Kai's eyebrows shot up, and I felt that familiar heat creeping up my neck. The kind that meant everyone was about to realize I was the weird homeschooled kid who'd never done anything normal.

"My mom's more of a apples-and-oranges person," I muttered, fighting the urge to grab my **iPhone** from my pocket. Just to check it. Even though I knew there were no notifications. The phone was like a security blanket—I'd been checking it every five minutes at this party, desperate for an excuse to look busy.

"Try it." Elena slid a slice toward me. "It's literally life-changing."

I took a bite expecting—what? Grossness? Weirdness? Instead, it hit my tongue like something completely foreign, soft and melony with this peppery kick that made zero sense. My face must have shown it because the whole kitchen erupted.

"That face!" Maya howled, pulling out her phone to record me. "Bro, you look like you just saw a bear!"

"I mean," I managed, swallowing, "it's definitely not apples and oranges."

Then Kai's older brother TJ burst in, breathless. "There's actually a bear in the backyard."

Dead silence. Then everyone was racing to the sliding glass door, and sure enough—a black bear, massive and beautiful, was wading through the koi pond like it was a kiddie pool, completely unbothered.

"No way," someone whispered.

My **iPhone** buzzed in my pocket—a real notification this time—but I didn't check it. For the first time all night, I wasn't thinking about who was texting me, or what my Instagram story looked like, or whether I was fitting in right. I was just watching this bear, this impossible creature, eat someone's decorative koi like it was a papaya buffet.

"Life-changing," I said, and Elena caught my eye and grinned. We pressed our faces to the glass, two strangers bonded by the weirdest Tuesday night of our lives, and somewhere in my pocket, my iPhone went dark, ignored.

Maybe fitting in wasn't about pretending to know things you didn't. Maybe it was about being honest when you tasted something new, and letting your face do whatever it wanted to do.