Papaya Summer

The humidity in Maui was already doing terrible things to my hair, but that wasn't even the problem anymore.

"Dude, you literally look like a different person," Jay said from behind the counter at Tropics Smoothie Bowl, where we'd both worked since June. He slid a papaya bowl across the counter to a tourist who wouldn't make eye contact with me.

I'd dyed my hair copper two days ago—a desperate move after my best friend since kindergarten, Skylar, had blocked me on everything. I'd accidentally posted a screenshot of our private DMs to my Instagram story instead of sending it to my other friend. For three whole minutes, before I deleted it, everyone had seen Skylar talking about how she was only hanging out with me because her mom made her.

My iPhone buzzed in my apron pocket. Again.

"Is it her?" Jay asked, his voice soft.

"No. Just Maya from school wanting to know if I'm okay." I stared at the papaya I was supposed to be cutting. The juice stained my fingers orange, like my hair. "Nobody actually cares, Jay. They just want the drama."

"I care," he said, so quietly I almost missed it.

I looked up. Jay had been working at Tropics for two summers, always with his headphones in, always taking his break behind the dumpster where he vaped. We'd never really talked until this week, when he'd found me crying in the walk-in cooler after Skylar's friends started coming in just to stare and whisper.

He held out his phone. "I found this TikTok hack where you can see who's been stalking your profile. Want me to help you check?"

"Why? So I can see who's been screenshotting my humiliation?"

"So you can see who's actually looking," he said. "Because I bet half these people aren't even thinking about you. They're just bored."

The bell dinged. Another group of girls from school walked in, laughing, then went silent when they saw me behind the counter with my bright orange hair and papaya-stained hands.

Jay stepped in front of me. "What can I get you guys?"

After they ordered and sat down as far from the counter as possible, he turned back. "I've been there, you know. Last year, I accidentally posted a video of myself dancing in my underwear to my Close Friends list instead of deleting it."

My eyes went wide. "No way."

"Everyone saw it. I wanted to move to another planet." He grinned. "But you know what? Three days later, someone posted a video of a cat falling off a TV, and suddenly I was old news."

"That's supposed to make me feel better?"

"Yeah, because it's true." He nodded at my phone. "Skylar blocked you? Fine. But who's been texting you since it happened?"

I thought about it. Maya, who I hadn't spoken to since middle school. Three people from my math class. Jay.

"Sometimes," Jay said, "losing a friend just makes room for the real ones."

My phone buzzed again. Not Skylar. Never Skylar. But Maya: want to come over later? my brother got this new game

I typed back: yeah, sounds good

Then I looked at Jay. "You want to get food after your break?"

His smile was genuine. "Finally. I've been asking since July."

The bell dinged again. More customers. But for the first time all week, I didn't want to hide behind the dumpster. I picked up my knife and kept cutting the papaya, orange juice on orange-stained hands, feeling something like hope for the first time in days.