Papaya Summer

Maya's mom stood in the kitchen doorway, holding out the sliced fruit like it was a peace offering. "It's got more **vitamin** C than oranges, honey. Your skin will glow."

Maya stared at the **papaya** on the plate. It looked like something that had been left out in the sun too long—soft, speckled, vaguely alien. "Mom, I'm seventeen. My skin is fine."

"Just try it. The girls at your school probably eat stuff like this all the time."

That was the thing about her mom. She thought being cool meant being some curated wellness influencer, not a normal teenager who survived on cafeteria pizza and whatever was in the vending machine during lunch.

The Friday night party loomed ahead like a storm cloud. Maya stood in front of her mirror, hair slicked back, eyes done. She looked good. She felt like she was wearing someone else's face.

"You look like an **orange**," her little brother Leo announced from the doorway. "Like, actually orange."

Maya blinked. Her bronzer had been applied with perhaps too much enthusiasm. "It's called contouring, Leo. Go away."

She arrived at the party fashionably late, clutching a cup of something that tasted like regret. Jordan was there, of course, standing by the pool with that effortless confidence that made everyone else feel like they were faking it.

"Nice tan," Jordan said, sliding up next to her. "Subtle."

Maya's face burned. "I hate this bronzer."

"Then why wear it?" Jordan's forehead wrinkled. "You look like you're trying to be someone you're not."

"Because that's what everyone does!" Maya gestured at the room. "Look at them. All filtered and posed and-

"That's **bull**." Jordan laughed, a genuine sound that cut through the manufactured vibe. "Nobody cares, Maya. You think I'm not nervous? I threw up in the bathroom before I came out here."

Maya stared. "You?"

"Me. Now come inside. My mom made fruit salad." Jordan paused. "And no, there's no papaya in it. I know you hate that stuff."

Maya blinked. "How did you-"

"You posted about it on your story. Three crying emojis and the caption 'my mom is trying to kill me with tropical fruit.'" Jordan grinned. "I thought it was cute."

Cute. Maya felt something unknot in her chest, tight and anxious for weeks.

"Come on," Jordan said. "I'll help you fix that bronzer. You've got actual skin under there somewhere."

Maya followed, already reaching for a wipe. Maybe her mom's wellness obsession wasn't so terrible after all—being seen, really seen, was probably the most important vitamin of all.