Papaya Summer

The A/C was busted again. Of course it was.

"Mayo, watch the counter," Abuela called from the back room, her voice carrying over the hum of the refrigerator. "I'm checking the cable box. The game starts in twenty."

I slumped onto the stool behind the register at Rivera's Market, scrolling through my phone. Three notifications. All from the group chat I'd been ghosting since graduation. The squad was at Jade's pool, probably living their best lives while I was stuck restocking papayas and dealing with Mrs. Gonzalez's three-hour-long stories about her cat's thyroid issues.

The door chimed. Tyler.

Tyler who sat behind me in pre-calc and wore those hoodies even in May. Tyler who I'd had a massive crush on since sophomore year but never actually spoken to because I have the emotional range of a teaspoon.

"Hey," he said. Too casually. "Your grandma said you could help me with something?"

My brain short-circuited. "Uh. Yeah. I mean. Probably? What's up?"

He pulled a crumpled paper from his pocket—a flyer for the county fair. "I need to win this. The mechanical bull contest."

I stared at him.

"The what now?"

"Listen." He leaned against the counter, and I tried not to notice how his forearms looked. "There's $500 prize money. I need it for this gaming setup. My mom said if I win it myself, she'll match it. But I keep getting thrown off in like, three seconds."

"And you think I can help?"

"You ride horses, right? I saw your Instagram."

"That's... different."

"Please?" He gave me this look. Puppy eyes. Unfair. "I'll buy you a papaya smoothie every day for a month."

I snorted. "That's your negotiation strategy?"

"Is it working?"

"Abuela!" I yelled toward the back. "I'm going outside!"

"¿Qué?"

"Helping Tyler! With something!"

"Ay, fine. Don't be long!"

We ended up at the empty lot behind the strip mall, where Tyler's friend had set up a practice bull. It looked ridiculous.

"Okay," I said, shifting into instructor mode like I did at the stable. "You're all tensed up. You need to flow with it."

"Flow?"

"Your legs. Loosen them. And stop gripping with your hands—that's how you get thrown. Use your core."

He climbed on again. I adjusted his stance, my hands on his waist, trying to focus on biomechanics and not how he smelled like sandalwood and nervous sweat.

"Now relax," I said. "Feel the rhythm."

The bull jerked to life. This time, he stayed on. Eight seconds. Then twelve. Then fifteen.

"I'm doing it!" he yelled, grinning like an idiot.

"Don't get cocky!"

He lasted twenty-three seconds before tumbling into the grass, laughing. I laughed too, harder than I had all summer.

"You're actually kind of amazing," he said, sitting up and brushing dirt from his jeans. Then his expression shifted. "Hey, so. Everyone's going to the fair on Friday. You should come. Watch me compete."

"To the fair?"

"Yeah. With me. Like... as my date? Or whatever?"

My heart did this embarrassing flutter thing. "Oh. Um. Yeah. I think I'd like that."

"Cool." He stood up, offering me a hand. "Cool."

We stood there for a second, hands almost touching, neither of us moving.

"So," I said, "about those papaya smoothies..."

He laughed. "Tomorrow. Same time?"

"Deal."

Back at the store, Abuela was behind the counter, smirking like she knew everything. She probably did.

"The cable's fixed," she said. "But you missed the game."

"That's okay," I said, my phone buzzing in my pocket. Tyler had already texted. "I think I won something better."