Papaya Summer

My dad's signature bucket **hat** sat crooked on my head, a pathetic shield against the humidity and my own crushing awkwardness. I'd been **running** from Tyler's texts for three days—ever since he'd posted that screenshot of our DMs where I confessed I'd never been to a real party. Now here I was, standing at the edge of Jessica Chen's above-ground pool, surrounded by people who somehow knew exactly how to exist. The air smelled like coconut sunscreen and chlorine. Someone pushed past me holding a plate of fruit. "You want **papaya**?" Jessica called out, already moving on to the next person. I shook my head, then realized she wasn't even looking. My stomach did that thing where it forgets how to function around people. Marcus splashed into the pool beside me, sending water everywhere. "Yo, new kid, you **swimming** or what?" Everyone looked. I felt my face catch fire. Actually, I couldn't swim. Like, at all. Another thing to add to the list of failures that made me not belong here. My mom had bought me these gummy **vitamin** D supplements last week, said I needed them since I wasn't getting enough sun. But the truth was, I wasn't getting enough anything. Enough friends. Enough courage. Enough whatever made everyone else seem so comfortable in their own skin. I took a breath and grabbed a piece of papaya from the tray. It tasted weirdly sweet, kinda like how I imagined bravery might taste. "Not swimming," I said, surprised by how steady my voice sounded. "But I'm trying this." Marcus grinned. "Bet you can't eat the whole thing without making a face." I did make a face. But for the first time since moving here, I didn't mind being seen.