Papaya Summer

The baseball field behind Miller's Creek was where the social hierarchy got decided every Friday night. I'd been **running** late—again—because Mom had insisted I finish my algebra homework before heading out. Typical.

When I finally arrived, breathless and sweaty, Jordan was already in the dugout, laughing at something Tyler said. My stomach did that embarrassing flippy thing it always did when Jordan was around. I'd been low-key crushing on them since seventh grade, back when I still thought Lightning McQueen jokes were peak comedy.

"Yo, Mateo! You gonna stand there all day or actually play?" Tyler called. The whole team laughed. I forced a grin, sliding my phone into my back pocket.

Here's the thing nobody at school knew about me: my abuela had been teaching me her recipes since I could hold a spoon. I could make the perfect **papaya** smoothie, tropical and tart with just enough honey. But admitting that? Might as well wear a sign that said ROOKIE.

"Sup." I grabbed a bat, trying to look chill. "What'd I miss?"

"Jordan was just telling us about that party at Ashley's," Tyler said, wiggling his eyebrows. "You going?"

Every pair of eyes turned toward me. This was it—the moment I could either play it cool or expose myself as the uncool kid who'd never been invited to an Ashley party. Before I could answer, something burst onto the field.

Chaos.

It was Luna—my **dog**—wagging her tail like she owned the place. And trailing behind her? Mittens, the neighbor's **cat**, who'd apparently decided today was the day she'd embrace her inner rebel and infiltrate a baseball game.

"What the—" Jordan started laughing.

"Luna!" I sprinted after her, all pretense of coolness completely evaporated. She did circles around home plate while Mittens sat regally by the pitcher's mound, judging everyone's life choices.

By the time I finally leashed Luna, my face was burning. The team was losing it. I wanted to disappear.

But then Jordan walked over, still grinning. "Hey, your dog is awesome. Also, weird question—are you Mateo whose abuela makes those fruit smoothies for the farmers market?"

I blinked. "Yeah? How'd you—"

"My little sister won't stop talking about them. She's obsessed with your papaya ones." Jordan shrugged, like this was normal information to possess. "Anyway, you coming to Ashley's? She asked about you earlier."

I stood there, holding Luna's leash with Mittens brushing against my leg, realizing maybe I didn't need to try so hard after all.

"Yeah," I said, actually smiling this time. "Yeah, I think I will."